


The Raven And The Nightingale Book I: Jeweled Nightingale

by BradyGirl_12



Series: The Raven And The Nightingale [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Green Arrow (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Wonder Woman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Ballet, Canon Het Relationship, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Presents, Drama, Edwardian Period, Established Relationship, Europe, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Het, Het and Slash, Historical, Holidays, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Male Slash, Mystery, Past Violence, Period-Typical Racism, Racism, Romance, Series, Sex, Slash, Slurs, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-19 20:51:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 46,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2402462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/pseuds/BradyGirl_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Edwardian Europe, young American millionaire Bruce Wayne becomes enamored of a beautiful and brilliant ballet dancer, Dick Grayson, who falls for his charming suitor, but Dick’s mysterious past threatens to tear them apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Graceful Swan

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: The Sparkling [Silvertales](http://silvertales.livejournal.com)! :)  
> Artist: The Amazing [Ctbn60](http://ctbn60.livejournal.com)! :) Link to Master Post: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/2476214>  
> Artist: The Incredible [Veinards](http://veinards.livejournal.com)! :) Link to Master Post: TBA  
> Warnings: (Ch. 8, 13: Racism, racist language (ethnic slurs)), (Ch. 13, 14, 17: Violence) (Ch. 17, 19 & 25: Use of the word Gypsy) (Ch. 20: Allusion to sexual assault) (Ch. 25: Memories of death by burning)  
> Spoilers: None  
> Original LJ Dates Of Completion: October 11, 2013-June 23, 2014  
> Original LJ Date Of Posting: October 24, 2014  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.  
> Original LJ Word Count: 45,852  
> Feedback welcome and appreciated.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce sees the glittering star dancer of an Italian dance troupe and is instantly smitten.

[](http://s578.photobucket.com/user/ctbn60/media/Fanfic%20Bookcovers/rome_zps119c52ac.jpg.html)

  
**Part One**

**Autumn’s Gold**

**I**

**GRACEFUL SWAN**

**September 27, 1906**  


  
_Glittering,_   
_Sparkling,_   
_Glowing,_   
_He danced_   
_Like a vision_   
_Across_   
_A fairytale_   
_Stage._   


  


**Jeremy Adams**  
 **"Dance Of The Heart"**  
 **1906 C.E.**

Rome was in its glory.

The golden light of early autumn suffused the lush countryside, highlighting the trees and vineyards. Snow-capped mountains reached up to touch blue skies as lakes shimmered in the clear air.

The ancient city stood proudly at the center of the old Empire and the new Italy. The ruins of the Colosseum lay sun-washed with ancient blood spilled in the sand. The great churches and the Vatican itself contained many of the greatest treasures of the art world as the city thrived with paintings and sculpture.

Music and dance also contributed to Rome’s greatness. Under the watchful eye of the Vatican, opera and ballet were permitted to flourish, in proper fashion, of course.

The elite of Rome attended the high arts while lower-grade productions catered to the masses. The grand productions attracted the wealthy and nobility of Europe and America. Even in 1906, the Grand Tour was still a staple of the American upper classes, or the Four Hundred, as the popular term went.

One such young man, Bruce Wayne of Gotham City, was in the middle of his Grand Tour. His manservant, Alfred Pennyworth, suggested attending _Swan Lake_ that evening.

“Oh, Alfred,” Bruce said petulantly, “I’m tired of ballets and operas.”

The Englishman picked up the newspaper from the pier table in their lavish suite. “But, sir, this production is said to be one of the most exquisite in Europe.”

The brooding young man sitting in the silk damask-covered chair affected a bored air. Fresh out of Harvard, he was exceedingly handsome with glorious dark hair and suits of the finest cut and material that showed off his well-toned body to perfection. Midnight-blue eyes were a bit cloudy after a night of excessive drinking.

Alfred read, _“’This cast is exceptionally talented as befits a troupe of rising prominence.’”_

Bruce waved his hand dismissively. “Just a critic’s puffery.”

“Perhaps, but a night at the ballet would do you far better than another night at the local tavern.”

Bruce scowled at him but Alfred was unruffled. Ever since the murder of Bruce’s parents when he was eight years old, the butler had raised the man who was technically his employer. Complex, but every thing about Bruce fit that description. Alfred feared the anger that drove his young charge would mire him in a sea of drink. Distraction such as this Grand Tour could be just what his boy needed. Alfred put the paper back down on the table and said, “I shall ring for tea, sir.”

As the butler took care of ordering, Bruce idly picked up the paper. He read the ad for _Swan Lake._

Alfred smiled as he watched Bruce in the wall mirror. He ordered white grapes, Bruce’s favorite variety of the fruit. He would have to see if the young master’s evening clothes were presentable.

& & & & & &

The theater was grand with marble columns in the lobby and gold-framed, full-length mirrors reflecting glittering jewels and shiny top hats. Rich, wine-red velvet curtains were drawn across the stage in the inner chamber. A series of sparkling chandeliers illuminated the frescoed ceiling.

It was a beautiful theater. La Scala served as both opera house and ballet theatre; and tonight featured Swan Lake with rising young stars and a bona fide prima ballerina. Natasha Romanoff, cousin of the Czar, had danced for the Royal Family and other crowned heads of Europe. Bruce had to admit that was curious to see her.

Alfred accompanied him, dressed impeccably, as usual. Bruce knew that he cut a dashing figure in his evening clothes, complete with black silk cloak and top hat. He pulled off his white gloves and tucked them away in a pocket of his cloak.

The lobby was packed with Italian nobility and other European notables. A brunette in faun-colored taffeta smiled at him as she glided by on the arm of an older gentleman with a handlebar mustache and muttonchop whiskers. He smiled back as Alfred said, “Should we proceed to our box, sir?”

“Yes, I think we should.” 

A red-capped usher was summoned and he guided them up to the box level. Alfred discreetly slipped the young man a tip and followed Bruce into the lavish box. Bruce approved of the comfortable velvet-covered chairs. Wine-red silk curtains gave them privacy as they settled into the chairs. A pier table covered in red silk damask with black tassels was set between them.

Below them were rows of chatting patrons and the curtained stage. The large curtains matched those of the box while gilt-edged decorations gleamed under the chandeliers.

Bruce idly read the program, admiring the elegant calligraphy. He skipped the synopsis of the ballet and read the list of characters. He didn’t bother to read the dancers’ names. The only one he knew was Natasha Romanoff’s, anyway.

_A woman related to the Czar dancing the lead. Should be interesting._

The orchestra was tuning up as people continued to file into the chamber. The lights began to dim as they started the overture and the curtain rose.

The stage design was of top quality, Bruce observed. Glittering scenery of an ethereal quality gave it the fairytale aura that the ballet needed. 

The first act opened and Bruce was impressed with the talent of the dancers. He had seen some of the finest troupes in Europe and knew his ballet.

Natasha Romanoff danced out on stage in a sparkling blue-white costume with a tiara that looked like diamonds, though they were probably fakes. Her long tulle tutu did nothing to hide her graceful movements as she danced and ‘sold’ her character to the audience. Bruce admired her talent. She was understated in her performance, but that made it all the more powerful.

Alfred was using his opera glasses. “Quite lovely,” he murmured.

Bruce had to agree. He had set his own pair of opera glasses on the pier table.

The lead male dancer appeared in a costume of blue-white glitter. Bruce’s jaw dropped as his stomach fluttered. The young man’s beauty stunned him. His strong, lithe body moved with a fluid grace that was otherworldly.

Bruce was having a difficult time catching his breath. His eyes never left the sparkling form as the young man danced with ease. He picked up his opera glasses with a shaking hand and trained them on the vision.

The young man wore make-up, which was to be expected for a ballet dancer during a performance. Some sort of black liner was rimmed around incredibly blue eyes.

_What was it called? Oh, yes, kohl._

But the eyes captivated him. The cheekbones of the beautiful face highlighted some exotic blood, Bruce guessed. Blue-black hair shone under the lights as lush lips curved into a smile.

Every movement was so graceful that Bruce wondered if magic was responsible. Smiling at his whimsical thoughts, he watched as the dancer performed a powerful kick. Muscles rippled as the dancer moved, streams of light flowing out behind him as his costume glittered.

“He’s perfect,” Bruce murmured.

The curtain came down after the first act. Bruce barely had time to gather his thoughts before it went up again. The beautiful dancer was not on stage. He didn’t appear again as the curtain fell for intermission.

Bruce’s mind had been in a whirl all during the second act. Now as the lights came up, Alfred stood. “Refreshments, sir?”

“Would you mind bringing me back something? You know what I like.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Alfred left the box and Bruce stared out at the stage. He had never felt this way before.

_I believe the expression is pole-axed, he thought wryly._

Alfred returned with two glasses of wine and two cups of lemon ice. Bruce smiled slightly as he accepted the ice. The cold was delicious on his tongue.

“Quite a performance, sir.”

“Yes.” Bruce slowly ate his ice.

Alfred remained quiet as he sipped his wine and ate his ice. Bruce appreciated his wordless companionship as he struggled to emerge from the fog in his mind. What had just happened?

The intermission was over and the lights dimmed as the curtain rose and the orchestra played. Bruce leaned forward, desperate to see the vision again. He wasn’t reacting with pure lust. He wanted the man but it was far more than that, though exactly what, he wasn’t sure.

The vision appeared again and Bruce was totally enthralled. He flushed pink as he noticed the exquisiteness of the man’s buttocks encased in the revealing tights. Time meant nothing as he only had eyes for the graceful dancer.

When the ballet finished to loud applause and the cast took their bows, Bruce said, “I must meet him, Alfred.”

“Yes, sir.” Alfred exited the box. 

As the curtain came down after several encores, Bruce shook himself. He grabbed the program and read the cast list.

Richard Grayson. The name sounded English or even American. That could be an opening.

& & & & & &

The backstage area bustled with activity as Alfred led Bruce to the dressing room of Richard Grayson. Dancers and stagehands brushed by the visitors as someone called for help with the set. Someone else played a piano as a burst of laughter drifted down the hall. A delivery boy hurried past carrying a large spray of red roses.

Bruce knocked on the door and a melodic voice answered, “Come in.”

Bruce and Alfred entered a room filled with colorful costumes on portable racks and draped over chairs. A dressing table was littered with pots of greasepaint and make-up implements. A round table was covered in a large spray of yellow roses and a flat satinwood box edged in gold. 

The vision from the stage was dressed in a gold lame dressing gown threaded with red and green. His feet were shod in golden slippers and his dark hair was shaggy and unkempt. His face still held traces of make-up and kohl was smudged around his eyes. He smiled and Bruce felt his stomach flutter.

“You must be Bruce Wayne.” He waved a graceful hand toward the table. “Thank you for the flowers and candy.” Amusement laced his voice. “Unusual to send yellow roses instead of red, and Canadian chocolates instead of Belgian or Swiss.”

Bruce glanced toward Alfred and silently thanked him. “I’m glad you like the gifts, Mr. Grayson. They’re well-deserved.”

“Call me Dick.”

Bruce was a little startled by the easy informality. In his experience, Europeans were not as quick as Americans to give out their first names on an initial meeting. In fact, Europeans considered it a failing of the New World. “Too familiar,” they sniffed.

Dick’s voice held the faintest hint of an accent but his English was impeccable. Bruce realized he had no idea about the dancer’s background. 

_It’ll be fun to unravel his mysteries._

“All right, Dick. This is my trusted right-hand man, Mr. Alfred Pennyworth.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Grayson.”

Dick nodded, accepting Alfred’s British reserve as to his name. “Let me offer you a seat, gentlemen.”

“I’d like to compliment you on a fine performance, Dick.”

The dancer bowed slightly. “Thank you.”

“I’d like to invite you to supper.”

Dick’s smile remained bright but Bruce could see his apprising look as he cleared a straight-backed chair of costumes. Alfred gratefully took a seat.

“A generous invitation, Mr. Wayne. Are you sure?”

“Bruce, please.” He knew exactly what Dick was asking. Inviting a ballerina was one thing but a male dancer? Despite the gifts, he was giving Bruce a chance to back out gracefully. European nobility and American wealthy could be capable of unconventional romances, but one still had to be discreet.

“Very sure. I have a carriage waiting outside.”

“Right to the point. I admire American bluntness and efficiency.”

“Dickie, darling, do you have a spare eyebrow pencil? Oh, sorry, I did not know you were…entertaining.”

The _prima ballerina_ of the troupe was a vision of loveliness in a taffeta dressing gown, beaded slippers and disheveled red hair. Her make-up was gone, but she still looked exquisite.

“Don’t worry about it, Natasha. Gentlemen, may I present Miss Natasha Romanoff, _prima ballerina.”_

Alfred rose and Natasha smiled at him and turned to Bruce. _“Dahlink,_ our lovely boy has many admirers. Such talent, our Richard.”

“Yes.” Bruce looked at Dick and bestowed a charming smile upon him. “May I count on your presence for supper?” 

“You may.”

“And may I request your presence as well, Miss Romanoff?” Bruce asked.

She waved her hand airily. “Oh, thank you, dahlink, but I have plans. I will see you at rehearsal tomorrow, _tovarich.”_

She swept grandly out of the cramped room and Dick laughed, a beautiful sound. “She is deserving of the title prima ballerina.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’ll take me awhile to change. Please go on ahead. I have my own transportation.” Dick picked up a tissue and wiped around his eyes. “Where shall I meet you?”

_“Primo’s.”_

“Ah, good choice.”

“’Til then.”

Bruce left the dressing room and he and Alfred put on their cloaks and top hats. As Bruce pulled on his gloves, he said, “You’re welcome, too, Alfred.”

“I know, sir, but for your first outing together, you should be alone.” Alfred squeezed his shoulder. “I am returning to the hotel. Enjoy your supper.”

As Alfred set off at a brisk pace for the hotel, Bruce entered the carriage. He instructed the driver to head to Primo’s.

He dearly hoped that Dick would come. He _had_ to come.


	2. Champagne 'N' Oysters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Dick enjoy their first date at _Primo’s._

"Elegance and good food make for outstanding companionship."

  


**Sir Edward Snockerbee**  
 **"My Travels Through Italy"**  
 **1901 C.E.**

Bruce sipped his champagne while eating oysters. He kept glancing at the entrance of the dining room, trying to keep calm. He had been waiting for half an hour. Had Dick changed his mind? Theatrical people were notoriously flighty. Was he playing him for a fool, amusing himself at the expense of an invert? It was always a risk when indulging in this certain taste. A few times blackmail had been attempted with former liaisons, but he had managed to fend the blackguards off.

As he ate another oyster, he thought about his situation. Surely a man of the ballet would not be offended by such attentions. Most male dancers were enamored of their own sex.

_At least I’m thinking rationally again. I was getting too wrapped up in this._

Maybe he should leave and consider himself lucky not to get involved. Finish his oysters and go, that was the ticket.

A mild stir went around the room and Bruce looked up to see Dick standing in the entrance. He seemed to sparkle as he scanned the richly-dressed patrons. He wore a mandarin-style outfit of gold threaded with red and green. He wore no hat but green gloves and a gold cloak. He spotted Bruce and walked in, smiling at those who sent him admiring looks and ignoring those whose expressions were disdainful.

Bruce stood. “I hope you don’t mind. I ordered champagne and oysters to start.”

“No, I don’t mind at all.”

Bruce took half the oysters from his plate and put them on a fresh plate, handing it to Dick. He poured a glass of champagne and slid it across the pink tablecloth.

The restaurant was decorated in pink and red, paintings of vineyards and other Italian landscapes on the walls. There was nothing quite like Italian food, and _Primo’s_ was one of the best restaurants in the city. Dick ate his oysters with relish, sipping the champagne like a gentleman.

The waiter brought menus and Dick scanned his as he pondered his choices. Bruce easily read the Italian menu. A cultured gentleman of his class knew French, of course, and Italian was necessary for understanding opera and other high arts. 

“I’ll have the catch of the day and pasta _primavera_ with the tomato soup to start,” said Dick.

“Excellent, sir.” The waiter spoke English so Bruce answered in kind. “Barley soup, please, and veal _scallopini.”_

“Yes, sir.” The waiter quickly wrote the orders down. “May I suggest a salad, sirs? The tomatoes were just brought in from the country.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll have the same,” Dick said.

Bruce ordered the wines for the entrée and after the waiter departed, he said, “You read Italian.”

“I speak it, too.” Dick shook out his napkin and placed it on his lap.

“What other languages do you speak?”

“French, Romanian, Hungarian. I know some Greek.”

“Ancient or modern?”

Dick laughed. “Just modern. I’ve no Greek tablets in my wagon.”

Bruce sipped his champagne as the waiter brought piping-hot bread and a small bowl of olive oil. Dick cut a piece of bread and dipped it into the oil. 

“Mmm, the best olive oil in the world is here in Italy,” he said.

“I agree, though the oil of the Holy Land is close.”

“You’ve been to Jerusalem?”

“Briefly. I was temporarily part of an archeological expedition in Egypt and took the opportunity to visit before I went to Greece.”

“We don’t have plans to tour Africa,” Dick said regretfully. “I should _so_ like to see the pyramids someday.”

“Perhaps you can.”

Dick looked up through incredibly long eyelashes. He had applied a fresh lining of kohl but the rest of his face was freshly-scrubbed. Nothing about this man was conventional, apparently.

“So, how does Rome compare to Gotham City?” he asked.

Bruce paused in the act of dipping his bread. “You know where I’m from?”

“Well, you’re American, first and foremost, and I know you’re from the House of Wayne in Gotham.”

“We don’t have formal Houses in the States,” Bruce chuckled and took a bite of the oil-soaked bread. It was delicious, of course.

“So no _House of Mirth?”_

“I’ll tell Edith you’re a fan.”

Dick’s eyes sparkled over the rim of his glass. “I’d be honored.”

Their salads arrived. Bruce appreciated the firm, vine-ripened tomatoes and crisp lettuce. The house dressing was tangy and rich.

“Have you been dancing long?”

“All my life, but only for the last four years professionally.”

Bruce hid his surprise. Four years and already a lead dancer? _Well, he’s immensely talented. I just hope he didn’t have to sleep his way to the top._

He knew that despite the fame and admiration directed toward ‘theater people’ in the States, some people considered actors and dancers little better than whores. They were supposed to be promiscuous but Bruce knew that generalizations were a fool’s bet.

“So what languages do you speak?” Dick asked.

“Me? Well, French, of course, and Italian. I know German and a little Greek. I know classical Greek better than modern Greek.”

“I suppose you know Latin?”

“Oh, yes. Latin and Greek are required at school.”

“Of course.” The soup arrived and Dick began eating it while it was hot.

Bruce sprinkled some pepper into his soup. The barley and chunks of potato were fresh. “So if you went to Greece you’d be okay?” Bruce asked.

“Enough to get by.”

Bruce wanted to ask so many things, but it was too soon to pepper the man with questions. He had to be patient.

_It’s so difficult. He’s so beautiful. I **must** have him! I want to know so much about him._

The entrees arrived and the conversation turned to the sights of Rome. Bruce took notes of the places that Dick mentioned: the Fountain of Trevi, St. Peter’s Cathedral, and the Colisseum, among other places.

The meal ended with a _cappuccino_ and spumoni, a square of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry ice cream. Bruce sipped the rich drink and asked, “I’d like to see you tomorrow.”

Dick took a bite of _spumoni._ “I am engaged tomorrow evening. The next evening, too,” he said before Bruce could ask the inevitable question.

“What about luncheon?” Bruce asked, curling his fingers tightly around the handle of his cup.

“I can do luncheon the day after tomorrow.”

“Monday it is, then.” He finished his _cappuccino._ “May I escort you home?”

“Thank you, but I can see my way home.”

 _Playing hard to get?_ Bruce didn’t let his dismay show. He had to be patient. _The wait will be worth it._


	3. "One Day A Zouave Walks Into The Colisseum..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During an afternoon of sightseeing, Bruce and Dick get to know each other a little better.

  
_The ancient walls echo_   
_With the cries of those_   
_Who saluted Caesar_   
_And spilled their blood_   
_Upon the sands._   


  


**Sir Alan Embree**  
 **"My Roman Gods"**  
 **1861 C.E.**

“So how did your intimate supper go last night?”

Dick laughed as Natasha entered his dressing room. Both were clad in their dressing gowns after a vigorous rehearsal. “It wasn’t all that intimate.”

“I am sure that Mr. Moneybags would have liked to change that.”

Dick leaned against his dressing table with crossed arms. “Moneybags, huh?”

“He is loaded, _dahlink.”_

Dick smiled. Natasha was clever and amusing. He was especially amused by the way she would thicken her accent around outsiders. She loved to keep people guessing.

“I know. His family is very wealthy.”

“Did you know that he is called the Prince of Gotham?”

“Really? America doesn’t have Princes.”

“They do not. But if anyone fits the title in America, this Bruce Wayne does.” 

She took a small metal case out of her pocket and tapped one out into her hand. She lit it with a match from a book from one of her favorite clubs and blew a ring of smoke. Women were not supposed to smoke but actresses and ballerinas were not proper, respectable women in the eyes of society.

“He is certainly as handsome as a Prince,” Dick said.

Natasha shrugged. “Beauty does not mean he is not a jerk.”

“Is that what the grapevine says about him?”

“The grapevine says that his family practically owns Gotham City and that he is aimless despite a shiny Harvard education.”

“His parents were killed right in front of his eyes,” Dick said quietly.

Natasha’s gaze upon him was sympathetic. “Do not let that fog your common sense.”

Dick pushed away from the dressing table. “I’m not a fool, ‘Tasha. I’ve played this game before with rich suitors.”

“And you have done well, _tovarich,_ gathering jewels and furs and all sorts of sparkly baubles, but you gave your heart a time or two. Those ermine-clad and lace-trimmed fops threw you aside without a second thought.”

Dick picked up a greasepot from the table and stared at the blue contents. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

“I hope not, _tovarich._ You deserve far better than these effete parasites.”

Dick chuckled as he set the pot down. “Watch it, my friend, you’re part of that class yourself.”

Natasha snorted. “I contribute to society.”

Dick took hold of her hand and brushed his lips against hers. “You contribute to _me.”_

She smirked.

A knock on the door broke them up. “Come in,” Dick said. One of the stagehands delivered a note.

“Who is it from?” Natasha asked.

“The Prince.”

& & & & & &

That night Bruce watched _Swan Lake_ again and intended to go backstage but Alfred gently laid a hand on his arm and said, “You have an engagement planned, sir. Wait until then.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Bruce wiped his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. “Thank you, Alfred.”

& & & & & &

Alfred kept his face carefully neutral as he watched the young man with the incredible talent walk into the restaurant. Unlike the description of the outfit that Bruce had given him after the late supper at _Primo’s,_ Dick seemed to make an effort to be a little more conventional, though it was not completely successful.

His coat and trousers were a dark-red, borderline-acceptable, but he also wore a pale yellow vest with glittering gold buttons and a canary-yellow scarf casually tossed around his neck. Sparkling green cufflinks added an even odder accent than the scarf. He wore no hat or gloves.

He could see Bruce’s fashion sensibilities cringe. His young charge might chafe at some of the restrictions of his class, but good fashion sense was not one of them.

Dick smiled as he reached the table. “Mr. Pennyworth, a pleasure to see you again.”

Alfred responded to that sincere charm. “I may say the same.”

Dick’s smile shone even brighter. As he sat down he said to Bruce, “Thank you for sending around your carriage today after you sent me that note yesterday.”

As the meal progressed Alfred observed the flamboyant young man. He was cheerful and exceedingly charming but the butler sensed a reserve.

_He is wary. Once burned and twice shy?_

He was well aware of High Society’s attitudes toward the theatrical world. It was all right to dally with the glittering personalities of the stage, but they were ultimately cheap distractions to be discarded when gentlemen grew tired of them.

He was not sure what the future held. Bruce was clearly infatuated with the nubile dancer, but the heir to the Wayne fortune could not openly be enamored of another man, especially a dancer. His charge was not above dalliances. Gentlemen were expected to enjoy such diversions, but they were also expected to marry and produce the next generation of heirs. He saw no happy ending for these two.

& & & & & &

The next engagement was another luncheon, the restaurant chosen by Dick this time. It was a bohemian little café on the edge of St. Peter’s Square. Bruce and Alfred had dressed for a midday engagement but Dick didn’t even bother to try and tone down his outrageousness this time. He wore dark purple jacket and pantaloons of pale yellow and matching shoes. His scarf was the canary yellow one from yesterday and he capped it off with a jaunty purple fez and resembled nothing more than a Zouave.

Bruce and Alfred exchanged meaningful looks. Bruce nearly laughed at Alfred’s despair. It was doubtful that they could ever corral this free spirit into high-buttoned shoes and tight vests. 

_He’s definitely his own man._

Dick was smiling brightly in the warm Italian sunshine. He seemed to soak it up as he tilted his head toward the sun. Slipping into a seat at the sidewalk table, he said, “So glad you could come.”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” said Bruce.

The lunch was a mixture of Italian and North African cuisine. Dick seemed very relaxed. He knew the owner and waiters and chatted with them as they stopped by the table. He seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. Bruce’s heart rate sped up. He was too beautiful for this world.

_I want him so much, but I want to **know** him._

Dick was extremely animated today, which endeared him even more to Bruce. Their meals together had been enjoyable, but he wanted to go the next step. After the lunch was over, he saw his opportunity.

“Let’s visit the Fountain of Trevi.”

Dick’s face lit up. “Let’s!”

Alfred stood. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have an engagement of my own this afternoon.”

“Enjoy yourself, Alfred,” said Bruce.

“Always, sir.”

Dick smiled. “Good afternoon, Mr. Pennyworth.”

Alfred bowed slightly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Grayson.” 

After the butler’s departure Dick said, “He’s a treasure.”

Pleased at the insight, Bruce agreed. “Thank you for lunch.” He stood. “Shall we go?”

“Of course.” Dick rose, leaving a generous tip on the table.

They engaged a carriage to travel to the _Piazza di Trevi_ and Dick hopped out and ran to the fountain, leaning over and splashing his hand in the water. “It’s such a wonderful work of art.” 

“It’s not the only amazing work of art I see.”

Dick threw an amused look over his shoulder.

Bruce had to agree with Dick’s observation as he viewed the old fountain. It was ornately baroque and of exquisite quality. The fluid movement of the stone people and horses reminded him of Dick: exquisite yet still looking as if in motion while motionless. 

The sculpture was also sternly Roman unlike the idealized Greek statues that he had seen in Athens. Watching Dick and his carefree movements, he thought of the perfect statues. Dick could pose for one and fit right in. He licked his lips as he watched Dick bend over.

The fountain was attracting all kinds of sightseers, proper genteel ladies with Brownie cameras and gentlemen with handlebar mustaches and canes. Peasants in scruffy homespun hurried by on their daily tasks as children gamboled around the edges of the fountain, dipping their hands in and squealing as they splashed each other. Mothers scolded them and dragged them away. 

“Let’s go back to the square and feed the pigeons,” Dick said cheerfully a half hour later.

“All right,” Bruce said in fond amusement.

Back at St. Peter’s Square Dick ran through a flock of pigeons, sending the birds scattering. Dick laughed as he ran with outstretched arms.

“Isn’t it wonderful?”

“What, dear?”

“Flying. These birds have the freedom to fly anywhere. Wouldn’t it be something if man could fly?”

“Well, the Wright Brothers did it three years ago at Kitty Hawk. Their physics are quite sound.”

Dick looked back at Bruce. “Scientist and archeologist? What other secrets do you possess, Bruce Wayne?”

Bruce smiled. “I would welcome you trying to find out.”

Dick’s gaze was speculative but he quickly covered it with a smile. He danced through the square and began to shuffle backwards, utilizing perfect balance.

“We need to engage another carriage.”

“And why do we need to do that?” Bruce teased as he kept pace with his companion, walking forward to meet his backward steps.

“We must go the _Piazza del Colosseo.”_

“And what is at the _Piazza del Colosseo?”_

“Why, the Colisseum, of course!”

“Of course.” Bruce smiled with fond indulgence. He was quickly becoming captivated by Dick’s whimsy.

He engaged a carriage and they were off to the piazza. Their carriage artfully dodged wagons and pedestrians as it rattled over the cobbled streets, jarring their bones. Bruce didn’t care. He was sitting close to Dick as the carriage jounced and their shoulders brushed. He could smell a faint scent of cologne. 

Dick watched the parade of people and wagons with avid interest. His zest for life stirred long-dead emotions in Bruce. He desperately wanted to take hold of Dick’s hand right now.

He stared down at the hand: strong, with slender fingers that rested on the ridiculous pantaloons. He took a deep breath and covered it with his own hand.

Dick looked up, startled; then a slow smile spread across his face. He turned his hand up and squeezed. Bruce felt a glow of happiness as the carriage rumbled through the streets.

The Roman Colisseum was impressive from the outside. It towered above them and held the patina of incredible age. Bruce was eager to explore.

They nodded to the guard at the entrance and entered the Colisseum and looked up at rows upon rows of crumbling, weather-worn seats. The grand scope of the place took Bruce’s breath away.

“Imagine being in this arena, saluting the Emperor in front of cheering crowds,” said Dick in a dreamy voice as he crossed an arm over his chest in the ancient Roman salute.

“And get eaten by lions.”

Dick laughed and he looked at Bruce with a mischievous smile. “That’s just the Christians.”

Bruce pretended to ponder, his finger tapping his chin. “You’d look really fine in a Roman toga.”

Dick’s eyes sparkled. “I could say the same.”

Bruce stopped himself from puffing his chest out like a preening peacock but was pleased at the compliment. “I use the same exercise program as the Olympic athletes.”

Dick performed a slow pirouette on the sand. “Oh, yes, your countrymen did exceptionally well in Athens in 1896.”

“We didn’t do too badly in 1900 and 1904, either.”

Dick sped up his pirouette and laughed as he said, “You Americans! Always boasting and bragging.”

Bruce looked around but they were alone in the vast Colisseum. He grabbed Dick’s arm and gently pulled him forward and kissed him. For one thrilling moment Dick kissed him back, then slipped out of his grasp and danced away like an elusive will-o’-the-wisp. He turned and held out a hand.

“Come dance with me.”

“I’m not a ballet dancer.”

“No, a waltz.”

Bruce was comfortable with a waltz. In fact, he was very good at ballroom dancing, even on the uneven sands of the Roman Colisseum under a bright blue September sky.

They danced in perfect sync, whirling and two-stepping as they enjoyed the sun-warmed arena. Dick’s brilliant smile was fast becoming the best thing that Bruce had ever seen. He had never felt this way before. He had enjoyed liaisons in the past but had never been this enchanted by anyone, man or woman.

_What sorcery have you cast upon me, my darling sprite?_

Dick brushed his lips against Bruce’s and Bruce pressed him close with a hand on the small of his back. When they parted, Dick looked a little lost but quickly covered it with a dazzling smile.

“Do I look like a Zouave?”

Bruce chuckled. “You do. You could have been one of Garibaldi’s patriots.”

“Didn’t men wear Zouave uniforms in your Civil War?” Dick put some space between them as they danced.

“They did in the beginning but quickly realized that Union blue or Confederate gray or butternut was far more practical than bright red-yellow-and-blue. It’s always best not to make too inviting a target for sharpshooters.”

“You would have made a dashing soldier.”

“Why, thank you, my dear.”

Dick appeared pleased at the endearment.

When they finished dancing, they sat in one of the rows and looked around the amphitheater. “Imagine living two thousand years ago, watching the contests here of gladiatorial combat,” Dick said.

“Some people think only slaves fought as gladiators but there was a time when freemen fought, winning prizes and fame. The slaves who did fight often won their freedom if they survived.”

“I wonder what it was like to live back then.” Dick propped his chin on his hands.

“Probably a struggle to survive unless you were wealthy, but that’s true of any era.”

Dick smiled at Bruce fondly. “You have a very practical way of looking at the world for a rich socialite.”

“Thank you.” Bruce ran a hand through his dark hair. Alfred would be mentioning that it was time for a haircut soon. “I’d like to think I’ve got more to me than parties and fashion and the latest gossip at the gentleman’s club.”

Dick gently closed his hand around Bruce’s forearm and squeezed. “You’re a lot more than that.”

Bruce looked at him and they shared a smile, entwining their fingers as they sat companionably in the warm Italian afternoon sun.


	4. Sun-Warmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The courtship is a sparkling success.

_"Italy is sun-warmed and bursting with flavor."_

  


**Mrs. Albert Braddock**  
 **Gotham City Socialite**  
 **Quoted In**  
 **_The Gotham Gazette_ **   
**1906 C.E.**

The courtship went well as Bruce and Dick met each other for lunches, late suppers, and sightseeing. Bruce was patient. He had courted women of his class where sex was not on the table, so to speak, because respectable women did not sully their reputations by sleeping around. A few were willing to chance it as long as extreme discretion was employed.

He knew it could be different with Dick. Ballet dancers had no reputations to protect. People considered them promiscuous to begin with, and sexual liaisons were not surprising.

Bruce disliked such attitudes but society in many countries held the same thoughts. Propriety and appearances were so important. He would have liked to chuck all the constraints.

& & & & & &

One evening after a performance, Natasha finally accepted an invitation to supper. Alfred also came, which pleased Dick. He had a fondness for the butler and Bruce was glad of it. Alfred was important to him and he expected respect for the elderly gentleman. Dick was more than happy to give it.

So was Natasha. She charmed everyone as she turned heads in her sparkling green outfit with the smartly-tailored jacket and skirt, her jaunty little hat perched on her red hair as she entered the restaurant and headed for their table. She wore dark-green kid gloves and pulled them off with long, elegant fingers as she sat down at the table. Her accent was thick but he could understand her, Bruce thought with relief. He didn’t want any misunderstandings with this close friend of Dick’s.

“So I told Alexei, you would do well to curb your spending on lavish parties and look to the serfs as the potato crop did not do well this year. He split the difference and hosted a ball while distributing food to the serfs.”

“So he did the right thing,” Dick said as he dipped his warm bread in olive oil.

She shrugged and Bruce said, “He did temporarily but the system is precarious.”

“Exactly,” Natasha said as she waved her fork at Bruce. She looked at him with new respect. “You understand economics?” 

“To some extent. I have a good teacher.” Lucius was patient and smart, and Bruce was laying the groundwork for appointing him to a prominent position in the company. He had to go slowly since Lucius was a Negro, but he was determined to go through with it. He smiled at Alfred’s approving expression. “I do know that there comes a tipping point when very few have most of the resources and the rest are forced to scrape for survival.”

Natasha drank her wine and nearly slammed the glass down on the table. _“Da, da!_ Keep crushing people under your heel and they grow desperate.”

“That’s an enlightened attitude, Miss Romanoff.”

“You mean considering that I am part of the ruling class in Russia?” She laughed. “I enjoy the fruits of my status but that does not mean I do not find the system fair or safe.”

“Safe?”

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “There are those who would plot to change it.”

She said no more on the subject and the conversation turned to other things, and later on Alfred excused himself to go to the men’s room while Dick went over to a table of admirers for a quick chitchat.

“You are more observant that I originally thought, Mr. Wayne.” Natasha lit a cigarette and lazily blew a ring of smoke.

“Thank you.” Bruce took out a cigar and lit it, not bothering to ask Natasha’s indulgence since she was smoking herself. 

Natasha’s eyes glittered as she gazed at Bruce through a haze of smoke. “Just be careful with our mutual young _tovarich._ He is a beautiful talent but I would hate to see him hurt.” 

Bruce smiled. “I will certainly do my best never to hurt him. He’s…special.”

“Very.”

“He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

She blew another ring. “He is fine _tovarich.”_

Bruce had no intention of hurting Dick, but it was a good thing, because he had no desire to cross one Natasha Romanoff.

& & & & & &

The ballet troupe had some free time as the opera company took over _La Scala._ Bruce seized the opportunity and invited Dick to leave the city with him.

“I’ve rented a villa in Tuscany. Come with me and we can enjoy the countryside.”

“That’s certainly tempting.” Dick looked down at his bag of peanuts that Bruce had bought him as they walked through St. Peter’s Square.

Bruce put his hand under Dick’s chin and tilted his head up. “Be tempted.”

Yearning shone in Dick’s eyes. “All right.”

Bruce smiled.

& & & & & &

The villa in Tuscany was worthy of the Prince of Gotham. Carrera marble was the stuff of the outer and inner Ionic columns, the grand staircase and balustrade, the floors and mantelpieces. The furniture was dark oak and solid, the draperies wine-red velvet, and crystal chandeliers glittered in the foyer and dining room.

“Beautiful,” Dick murmured as they entered the villa.

“A fine choice, Alfred.” Bruce set his valise down. The bulk of his and Alfred’s luggage was still in Rome in their hotel suite.

“Thank you, sir. I shall see to the unpacking and check out the kitchen.”

Bruce said to Dick, “Let’s explore the gardens after we bring our baggage up.” Etiquette dictated that he should leave his valise to Alfred but he’d be damned if he did such a thing. He and Dick were strong and healthy and there was no reason except convention to not bring up the luggage themselves.

The upstairs bedrooms were spacious with comfortable beds and the same sturdy furniture. There was a well-stocked library and a spacious back veranda that overlooked lush gardens.

Bruce chose the master bedroom as his own. Dick and Alfred would select their own rooms and Bruce hoped that this idyll in the country would result in Dick sharing his bed.

He changed and refreshed himself, choosing an informal outfit of faun-colored trousers and waistcoat, white silk shirt without an ascot, and simple jacket. He decided against high-buttoned shoes and slipped his feet into comfortable Italian loafers. It was good to dress casually, he thought in satisfaction.

He waited in the gardens, admiring the brilliant colors of the flowers in the golden autumn sunlight. There was a different quality to the light out here in the country. It was softer, more golden. No wonder painters raved about the light in Italy.

“Alfred says he’ll have lunch ready in forty-five minutes,” Dick said as he approached.

Bruce admired the unusual pants that Dick wore: bright yellow and tight. His matching shirtsleeves were puffy and his vest was embroidered in red and green with a touch of blue. He looked like a gay peasant out for a stroll.

“Are those pixie boots?!”

Dick grinned. “Of course!” He put his hands behind his back and danced a little jig in the yellow slippers.

Bruce shook his head fondly as he picked a yellow rose and handed it to Dick, who took it with a smile and sniffed it. “This place is beautiful.”

“It suits you.”

Dick’s smile grew coy. “Ever the flatterer, Mr. Wayne?”

“I should hope so, Mr. Grayson.”

They examined the flowers and Dick straightened up, looking at the fountain behind them. A nude young man tilted a water pitcher and the water spilled out in a sparkling miniature waterfall.

“The style is Greek.” 

“Hmm, I see what you mean. Idealized.” Bruce studied the statue. “Excellent work.”

“I guess the villa’s owner prefers to the Greek style over the Roman one.”

Bruce appreciated the smooth, clean lines of the statue. The young man’s hair curled endearingly around his neck. His lips curved into a slight smile and he could swear that he could see a hint of mischief in the calm eyes.

“Let’s go to Florence,” Bruce said suddenly.

“Florence?” Dick’s interest was piqued. “That’s a treasure trove of great art at the _Accademia.”_

“You’re right, and one of the greatest statues in history is located there.”

Excited realization dawned in Dick’s eyes. “Michelangelo’s David!” 

“Correct.”

“Yes, let’s go as soon as possible.”

They stayed out in the gardens until lunch was served, full of plans.

& & & & & &

Florence bustled with people going about their business while Bruce and Dick entered the city in a handsomely-appointed carriage the next day.

“Perhaps we should have engaged an automobile,” Bruce said.

Dick was eager to follow that suggestion. “They’ve had some crackerjack races, starting in Uffizi.”

“Yes, I hear there’s a Grand Prix in Paris next spring.”

“Should be exciting.” Dick cocked his head. “Have you ever raced?”

“I’ve done a little back in America. Automobiles are fun to tinker with.”

“Do you own any of those Indian motorcycles?”

“I do.”

“I’d love to ride one of those!”

The carriage jounced on the narrow, winding streets and Bruce made note of their conversation.

They arrived at the _Galleria dell’Accademia_ on _via Ricasoli._ Bruce and Dick alighted from the carriage, both wearing daywear. Bruce’s was proper with dark-blue morning coat, trousers, blue-and-white striped waistcoat, and fashionable homburg. 

Dick was wearing his wine-red suit with a rose-pink waistcoat and spats. He had made an effort to coordinate his colors, and Bruce appreciated it. He consulted his gold pocketwatch, attached to his waistcoat by a gold chain. 

“We’re on time.”

“Thank you, Peter Rabbit.”

“You’re thinking of Alice In Wonderland’s rabbit.”

“Of course.” Dick grinned.

“Director Tetrazzini said he would meet us at eleven.”

“For a private showing?”

“Yes, dear.”

Dick grinned again as the director emerged from the ornate building. A short, balding man with a pleasant smile, Director Antonio Tetrazzini was dressed conservatively but wore a pink carnation in his buttonhole for a splash of color against black broadcloth.

“Ah, Mr. Wayne, so glad you could come. The Galleria will open at one, so you have a few hours to enjoy the Michelangelo in private.”

“Thank you for the private showing.”

“You are quite welcome, Mr. Wayne. Your work on the board of the Gotham Art Museum is well-known to me. Come, let us go inside.”

The _Galleria dell’Accademia_ was all marble and tasteful accents like polished floors, teakwood tables and art that was magnificent to see: busts and paintings and vases, intermingled with portraits of men and women of prominence throughout the ages, patrons of the arts. They crossed the foyer floor under the watchful gaze of St. Michael and passed the impressive Michelangelo group piece, the _Prigioni._ The writhing, despairing prisoners were impressive in their expressions and anatomy, but it was a depressing piece and Bruce decided to re-visit it later if they had time. 

Mr. Tetrazzini led them down several corridors until they approached an open area with a high, round ceiling. They could see the statue from afar, and Bruce eagerly followed the rotund director. Dick was just as excited next to him and Bruce quickly squeezed his hand before releasing it as they entered the special gallery. The director discreetly left them alone after smiling at their reactions.

It was a stunning work of art, much more impressive in person that the photographs Bruce had seen. The perfect anatomy had been sculpted by human hands of great talent and the sense of strength and power was breathtaking. 

“Look at his hands,” Dick murmured.

“Beautifully-detailed.”

Bruce absorbed every detail as he gazed upon the statue. David’s expression was a matter of interpretation, of course, but he thought he appeared contemplative. His grasp of the slingshot could mean he was preparing to battle Goliath or had just defeated him. The ambiguity intrigued Bruce.

“All that power, coiled to strike,” said Dick. “Cleverness and cunning over brute strength is attractive.”

“So brawn doesn’t do it for you?”

“Brawn’s important, but brains will triumph.” Dick walked around the statue. “I like the combination.”

Bruce studied the statue. “He certainly has that combination.” He slid his glance toward Dick. The dancer wasn’t brawny but his legs were powerful and his torso was well-developed. He had to lift full-grown women during his routines. Granted, ballerinas tended to keep their weight below average, but they were not light as feathers, either.

The statue also intimated that David was graceful in his movements. The way he looked at rest was very much like Dick, who was the epitome of grace.

_Damn, you’ve got it bad, Wayne._

“I’ve got my Kodak. Pose for me,” Bruce asked.

Dick smiled and struck a pose with the statue of David behind him. As Bruce focused, he could not honestly say who was more perfect.

& & & & & &

The next day, Bruce and Dick went out on a picnic. They rented horses from the local stables and Alfred provided a picnic basket. Bruce approved of Dick’s horsemanship.

“You’re a skilled rider.”

“Thank you.” 

Bruce wondered if Dick’s family had owned horses, or had he worked as a stableboy? Bruce realized that he knew virtually nothing about Dick’s past.

“Where did you learn to ride?”

“Friends of mine kept horses.”

When Dick didn’t elaborate, Bruce started to ask another question. His companion suddenly cantered ahead on the path. Bruce raised an eyebrow. Obviously Dick didn’t want to talk about his past. It made for an intriguing mystery.

Dick turned halfway in the saddle and waved. “Here’s a good spot.”

Bruce agreed. The venerable old maple tree in the middle of the meadow was golden in its fall colors. The grass was strewn with leaves and offered a soft cushion to sit on the ground. They tied the reins of their horses to another tree but gave the animals plenty of slack to graze.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” Dick said as he opened the basket. He had laid out a red-checked tablecloth and handed Bruce a blue willow china plate. “Ah, the classics: fried chicken, potato salad and rolls. And apple pie!”

“Simple but delicious.”

“Alfred is certainly a treasure.” Dick poured wine into glasses and they enjoyed their lunch, appreciating the crisp chicken sprinkled with spices, cold potato salad with dill, and cinnamon-dusted apple pie. They placed the remains of their meal in the basket.

“Mmm.” Dick stretched out under the tree, resting his head on his interlaced fingers. “I’m feeling lazy.”

“Are you now?”

“Yes.” A strong breeze blew and a shower of leaves rained down.

“Here, you’ve got a leaf in your hair.” Bruce leaned over to pluck it out.

Dick looked up directly into his eyes and Bruce suddenly leaned down further and kissed him.

For a heart-stopping moment there was no response, then Dick kissed back. His lips were warm and soft, parting for Bruce’s tongue. Dick moaned slightly, causing heat to pool in Bruce’s groin. Slender arms slid around his back and encouraged him to settle carefully on top of the smaller man.

Bruce’s thumbs caressed Dick’s jaw and throat. He proceeded to kiss him from lips to throat to chest as he unbuttoned the shirt. Dick shivered as he caressed Bruce’s back. Bruce’s hand wandered down to Dick’s hip. He lifted himself off the dancer and slipped his hand down those ridiculous pants. 

“What do you call these pants?” he asked between nips of Dick’s stomach.

“Harem pants,” Dick gasped.

A wolfish grin appeared on Bruce’s face. “Ah, yes. So you’re part of my harem?”

“Well, I’m not a eunuch guard, that’s for sure.”

Bruce threw his head back and laughed. The horses whinnied but returned to their grazing.

The harem pants were tight and required Bruce tugging and Dick lifting his hips, but they finally got them off. His underdrawers were short but much easier to remove, exposing an impressive example of manhood.

Bruce gave the bobbing cock an admiring pat before he began serious stroking. He’d given hand jobs before, and Dick was enjoying his ministrations. His head tossed from side-to-side and his eyes squeezed shut. Bruce put all his skill into running his fingers up the hard column of flesh, tugging gently on the balls and running his fingers along the tip of the cock. Dick’s whimpers spurred him on to the next step.

Dick’s eyes snapped open and he looked down between his spread legs. “Br…Bruce, you don’t have to…”

Bruce didn’t respond as he busily sucked his lover’s cock. Dick writhed beautifully beneath him as slender fingers tangled in Bruce’s hair. He thrust his hips up as Bruce sucked harder.

“I’m ready to…!”

He spurted into Bruce’s mouth and the millionaire swallowed, liking the unique taste of his lover. When he released Dick the younger man looked up at him with glittering eyes.

“Let me return the favor,” he said in a husky voice.

Bruce groaned as Dick touched him between his legs. Nimble fingers unfastened his trousers and pushed them and his underdrawers down, exposing his cock. He shivered in the cool air but a warm hand soon grasped his member and squeezed lightly. Pleasant tingles went through his body as Dick manipulated him skillfully, urging Bruce closer until his cock hovered over the dancer’s mouth. A nod from Dick and Bruce lowered his cock into Dick’s willing mouth.

Sensations of pleasure thrummed through his body as warm wetness encased his member. He was very close to the edge as he shivered with lust. He looked down at Dick and lost it, coming hard with a shudder that left him exhausted and seeing stars.

They wordlessly held each other for a long time during afterglow before cleaning up and returning to the villa.

& & & & & &

What followed were golden days and passionate nights. Bruce was happy until their final night in Tuscany and Dick told him that the ballet company was leaving for St. Petersburg in two days. 


	5. Wild 'N' Wanton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce learns something new and exciting about Dick.

[](http://s578.photobucket.com/user/ctbn60/media/Fanfic%20Bookcovers/russia_zpsca5a0343.jpg.html)

  
**Part Two**

**Winter’s Snows**

**V**

**WILD ‘N’ WANTON**

**November 6, 1906**  


  
_The music plays,_   
_The Gypsy dances,_   
_All is lost_   
_In the whirl_   
_Of passion._   


  
__

**Rula Taznik**  
 **"Under A Gypsy Moon"**  
 **1863 C.E.**

The St. Petersburg Express rattled along the tracks as it passed barren fields. The harvests were in and the _kulaks_ were busily preparing for the brutal Russian winter.

Bruce and Alfred were comfortably ensconced in the observation car. They each had a private sleeping compartment and slept comfortably to the clack of the wheels on the tracks.

The car was crowded with Russians heading to the great city mixed in with other Europeans. Bruce figured he was the only American on board. He could easily pick out members of the troupe by their flamboyance in manner and dress. He didn’t see Dick or Natasha until he turned around and Dick was standing there in the aisle with arms crossed. 

“Are you following me, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce was relieved to see a hint of a smile playing around Dick’s lips. “What if I said yes?”

“You’re wasting your time.”

“It’s my time to waste.”

Dick shook his head in exasperation. “Russia in winter is no picnic.”

“I don’t see any snow out there.”

“Just wait a few days. Can’t you feel it?”

“I’ve been inside all day.”

“Go out on the platform.” Dick smiled at Alfred. “Good to see you again, Mr. Pennyworth.”

“The pleasure is mutual, Mr. Grayson.”

Dick left the car and Bruce went out onto the platform, leaving Alfred to his book. He stretched and took in a lungful of cold air. The bare trees and stubbled fields made him think of the Manor. He had been away from home a long time.

He was an old hand in ‘feeling’ snow. Anyone who lived in snow country recognized the slate-gray sky and felt the approaching snow in his bones.

_Dick’s right. Snow is coming._

Winter in Russia would be quite an experience. He hoped to find warmth in the cold Russian winter very soon. His thoughts drifted back to his time in Italy…

& & & & & &

The fire crackled in the hearth of the villa’s library as Bruce and Dick read while sipping mulled cider and eating cheese and crackers. Dick had also requested white grapes. He absently plucked a grape and ate it as he read.

It was raining outside, a steady drumming on the red tiled roof. The soft glow of the lamps made everything cozy. Bruce felt a rare contentment, and it was all because of the gorgeous man sitting on the rose-patterned sofa.

& & & & & &

Bruce took out a cigar from his carrying case. He lit it and smelled the rich tobacco. One of life’s simple pleasures was going to _The White Owl,_ the finest tobacconist shop in Gotham. He remembered going with his father when he was a small boy, Thomas chatting with George the owner while he explored the shop with its fascinating array of Meershaum pipes, colorful cans of chewing tobacco, and a stern-faced wooden Indian that stood guard over the shop.

Bruce blew out a ring of smoke. He was probably a fool for pursuing Dick, but he didn’t care. One of the perks of being filthy rich was the freedom to go anywhere on a whim.

_Though Dick Grayson is no whim._

Bruce leaned back against the railing, enjoying his Cuban cigar. He was getting low on the supply but he’d have to wait until he got home to get more. Cuban cigars were not available in Europe, though some enterprising sort would eventually try it.

The clack of the wheels was a soothing rhythm as Bruce watched the passing scenery. He wanted Dick badly but knew that he had to be careful. For whatever reason, the young man was skittish. Despite his obvious pleasure in their romance, he had almost seemed relieved to tell Bruce that he had to leave Rome.

_What…or who…hurt you so badly?_

The train whistle blew mournfully. Bruce was grateful for his warm coat. There was no snow but it was still cold. He let his thoughts drift again…

& & & & & &

_“But, if you go, I won’t see you anymore.”_

_Dick stood by the fireplace, staring into the flames with crossed arms. “I’m a dancer, Bruce. I go where the troupe goes.”_

_Bruce nearly said, “Stay,” but didn’t dare. Dick would choose the troupe. He had a passion for dancing. It wasn’t hard to read that._

_**Don’t appear desperate. You’ll scare him off. Use your head and come up with a plan.** _

& & & & & &

His plan had been to pack him and Alfred up, leave Rome and follow the troupe. Alfred’s only reaction had been to raise an eyebrow and start packing.

Bruce smiled. He had seen enough plays and read his share of trashy novels to know that pursuit of the love object was a necessity. He would pursue Dick for as long as it took.

Bruce tapped his cigar, the ashes falling to the ground. He had all the time in the world.

& & & & & &

The dining car was appropriately elegant with green velvet curtains tied back with gold tassels at the windows and sparkling silver as the utensils. Green linen napkins were folded neatly by china plates as waiters glided soundlessly from table-to-table, discreet and dressed in good quality uniforms. Teakwood tables and hand-tooled leather booths offered a comfortable setting for dining.

“The _borscht_ is excellent,” Bruce commented as he sampled the dish.

“I concur.” Alfred buttered his piece of dark bread.

Bruce looked up and saw Natasha approaching. He started to rise but she gestured for him to remain seated. She wore a glittering shawl with hand-stitched pink roses over a simple green dress with a wide black belt and a matching sparkling bead necklace that reached down to her waist. The only conventional thing she wore was the pair of high-buttoned black shoes and matching stockings. Gold bracelets jangled as she waved her hand.

“If you insist on following our _dahlink,_ then I must invite you and Mr. Pennyworth to stay at my Aunt Drusilla’s estate outside the city.”

Bruce put his spoon down. “Thank you, Miss Romanoff.”

Natasha fingered her necklace. “You are welcome.” She nodded to Alfred and flounced away.

“Most extraordinary,” Alfred said.

“I have to watch my step around her.”

“Most assuredly.”

Bruce smiled. He broke off a piece of bread and said in a contemplative tone, “I wonder if our prima ballerina had an ulterior motive for inviting us.”

“I daresay that she does, sir, but perhaps it is for the best.”

“Why do you say that?”

“If she believes she is keeping an eye on you, she will be less belligerent.”

“Ah.” Bruce looked down at his borscht. “I think I must agree with you, Alfred.”

The butler nodded. “Quite, sir.”

Bruce enjoyed the lunch and a leisurely afternoon of reading in the observation car with Alfred. As the dinner hour approached he went to his compartment and changed. On his way to the dining car he heard faint music. Intrigued, he followed the sound and reached a private car. He pushed open the door that was slightly ajar.

Inside were members of the dance company. Their musicians played a fiery tune that Bruce recognized as Russian. Natasha danced as her colleagues clapped and stomped their feet, shouting, “Hey!” as her boots hit the floor hard. She wore the same outfit as earlier in the day with the only change being the boots.

She danced in true Cossack fashion, wild and passionate, controversial for one of her class. Bruce watched her with rapt attention. She could captivate whether folk dancing or performing ballet magic.

She whirled and dipped and threw her head back as her bracelets jangled madly. She met her colleagues’ shouts as she danced from one end of the car to the other. Bruce drew back, staying in the shadows.

The tempo increased as the music changed. Bruce recognized it as Gypsy music. The clapping and stomping grew more frenzied and suddenly Dick appeared, dressed in his harem pants and the embroidered vest and peasant blouse. His feet were shod in boots this time and matched Natasha stomp-for-stomp. He was smiling and his hair fell into his eyes as he allowed himself to be a free spirit. 

Bruce couldn’t take his eyes off him. This was dancing in the blood that he could only imagine. He had no point of reference when it came to such unrestrained passion on the dance floor. His experience was with waltzes and quadrilles and other proper dances. This animalistic passion was foreign to him, but exciting nonetheless.

_You will be the death of me, Dick Grayson._

Bruce was the proverbial moth drawn to a brilliant flame. His heart thumped in his chest as his blood sang in his veins. He watched the seemingly-random gyrations but realized that there was a pattern. Wild yet graceful, Dick and Natasha danced together in perfect rhythm. It was beautiful to see. 

_How I want to put that smile on your face._

Bruce continued watching until he heard voices from down the hall. He quietly closed the door and affected a nonchalant pose. A middle-aged couple sauntered by, chattering and laughing. Once they passed into the next car, Bruce considered opening the door again but decided against it, not wanting to push his luck. He checked his pocketwatch and decided to join Alfred for dinner. He looked back as he walked away.

The dining car was jarringly quiet, only the low murmur of conversation and clink of silverware to be heard. Bruce sat down at the table where Alfred was already seated.

“Are you all right, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked.

“I’m fine.” Bruce couldn’t get the image of wild, wanton Dick out of his mind. He picked up a warm roll from the basket on the table. “Are we having fish tonight?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Bruce’s tone was distracted. He started to butter his roll.

“Sir?”

“Hmm?”

“Did something happen to you on the way to the dining car?”

Bruce looked at the clear, kind eyes of his old friend. He never could fool Alfred. Why did he even bother trying?

“Something did.” Bruce proceeded to tell Alfred what he’d seen, keeping his voice low in the quiet car.

“Sounds quite extraordinary, sir.”

“It was.” Bruce was starry-eyed as he smiled. “You should have seen him, Alfred. I’ve never seen dancing like that.”

“Folk dancing is often the base for the higher forms of dance.”

“Very true.” Bruce ate his roll as he contemplated Alfred’s comment. The study of art was a field that was proper for gentlemen to dabble in. “It’s like a field study.”

“Correct. You are observing a folk dance in its natural habitat.”

“It was very exciting music. First Russian, then some Gypsy stuff.”

“I can imagine.”

& & & & & &

That evening Bruce fell asleep to dreams of wild Gypsies dancing around a campfire and Dick smiling at him. 


	6. American Abroad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and her friends arrive at Oakwood, her Aunt Drusilla’s estate outside of St. Petersburg.

_"Americans are babes-in-the-woods when it comes to Europe."_

  


**Malcolm Standish**   
**American Writer**   
**October 12, 1901**

The palatial estate of Countess Drusilla Romanoff was impressive. Despite the bare trees and brown grass of November, the oak, spruce and fir trees created a green backdrop for the imposing three-story mansion of gingerbread curlicues and brooding, slate-gray roof. The sandstone-colored paint was accented by brown shutters and a massive oak door with an enormous brass knocker.

The clip-clop of the carriage horses’ hooves was loud in the quiet autumn air. Bruce, Alfred, Dick and Natasha were in the first carriage as a second followed with their luggage.

Natasha was first out of the carriage as soon as it stopped and up the steps to the front door. She banged the knocker against the wood, the rest of the passengers alighting. Dick seemed a little nervous but as the door opened, she smiled. The elderly man in butler livery smiled back at Natasha.

“Good to see you, Miss Natasha.”

“May I say the same, Malinkov.” Natasha’s tone was affectionate.

“Come in. The Countess is waiting in the parlor.”

“Lead on, old friend.”

The party entered the foyer. Bruce was reminded of the Manor with the dark wood paneling, grand staircase and glittering chandelier. Suits of armor lined the foyer and in the alcoves as they reflected the sunlight streaming through a narrow set of windows flanking the door. The floor was polished parquet and their shoes’ heels clicked on the surface as Malinkov lead them out of the foyer and down the hall.

Bruce noted the stern-faced portraits of ancestors lined along the walls and felt right at home. He could feel the weight of centuries in the house, much like his own, though the mansion here was much older.

The butler opened the doors to the elaborate parlor and Bruce immediately saw the imposing woman sitting in a pink damask chair. Her snow-white hair was elegantly-coiffed with a decorative silver comb studded with amethysts. She wore a deep purple dress of the latest high-collared fashion. A diamond brooch sparkled at her throat.

The most distinctive feature was her eyes. The color was a dark purple, very unusual. Bruce noticed how those eyes scrutinized the newcomers. She smiled graciously as if she was the Queen of England holding court and receiving a supplicant audience.

“Ah, so good to see you, dear Natasha.”

“I feel the same, Aunt Drusilla.” Natasha took the older woman’s outstretched hands. “You look well.”

“So do you.” Drusilla’s accent was heavy but she spoke perfect English. “And is this your ballet partner?”

Dick bowed slightly and smiled brilliantly. He was dressed moderately (for him) in his wine-red suit and a matching vest. He was almost distressingly-conventional, with regular high-buttoned shoes and starched white shirt, though his cufflinks were his green, sparkly set.

Natasha was subdued in a faun-colored outfit that was very fashionable with puffed sleeves and full skirt. Her hat was wide-brimmed and bedecked with a multitude of ostrich feathers.

_I wonder if they’ll keep this up._

Bruce knew that he and Alfred would have no trouble with dressing conventionally. He saw that the Countess was cool toward Dick.

“And this is Mr. Bruce Wayne of America and his manservant, Mr. Alfred Pennyworth,” Natasha said.

Bruce smiled. He had met his share of dowager queens in his lifetime and knew the right tone to take as he took her proffered hand and bowed slightly over it. He noticed the diamond ring and bracelet that were of the highest quality.

“A pleasure to meet you, Countess.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne.” She nodded to Alfred, who bowed. “I am interested in conversing with someone from America.”

“I’m honored.”

“So you should be.” Drusilla rang a little silver bell that she picked up from the end table. Malinkov appeared and she asked, “Has the luggage been carried upstairs?”

“Yes, Countess.”

“Excellent. You all must be tired from your journey. Dinner will be served at eight.”

She rose and swept out of the room. Bruce broke the silence. “Is she always this regal?”

Natasha laughed. “Always.” She removed her hat. “You might want to lie down once you have unpacked. Dinner will take all evening.”

“But I’m hungry now!” Dick lamented.

Natasha patted his cheek. “There will be some chocolate in your room, and perhaps some fruit.”

Dick brightened considerably. Bruce and Alfred exchanged amused glances. Dick’s appetite was already well-known to them. Luckily for him his energy seemed to burn off fat because in his profession, being fit was essential.

The four of them ascended the staircase. As Natasha talked with Alfred, Bruce said softly, “I wish we could share a room.”

Dick squeezed his hand. “I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

Bruce was heartened that Dick was even considering it. Rome had been a perfect setting to kindle their romance. Maybe Russia could revitalize it.

“Here is your room, Bruce.” Natasha indicated the room closest to them. “I am serious about getting some rest. You will have to be on your toes tonight.”

“Ah, yes, for the endless dinner.”

She smirked. “Apt description. Mr. Pennyworth, you are next to Bruce, and _dahlink_ Dick, you are on the other side of Bruce.” 

“Quite cozy,” said Dick with a saucy wink.

Bruce was pleased to see that Dick was more like his old self. A subdued Dick Grayson was against the laws of Nature. 

Bruce entered his room and Alfred followed. “I will draw your bath, sir, and put away your clothes.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

Bruce knew that it was useless to argue with his old friend about the unpacking. He would insist upon doing it as Bruce’s manservant, and that was that.

Bruce did manage to hang up a few jackets while Alfred was down the hall drawing his bath. By the time the butler returned, he insisted Bruce head down to the quaintly-named ‘water closet’.

Bruce obeyed, bringing his robe, slippers and toiletries with him as he went down the hall. Fortunately Oakwood had modernized enough so that there was rudimentary indoor plumbing. He hadn’t fancied taking trips to the outhouse in the middle of the night.

The claw-footed tub held hot water and a hint of lemon. Alfred had scented his water with some Parisian indulgence.

_What, no English lavender?_

Bruce chuckled as he soaked. The bathroom was small but he was happy with the set-up. He closed his eyes and began plotting. He wanted the delectable Dick Grayson in his bed again before they left St. Petersburg.

& & & & & &

Dinner was an old-fashioned meal of several courses served in a massive dining room with crystal chandelier, mahogany sideboards, and a long table set with silver dinnerware and bone china. There was French onion soup, warm and crusty bread, roast squab and pheasant, a medley of root vegetables in cream sauce, squash with brown cinnamon, fresh fish caught from the Black Sea, asparagus, and a dizzying array of other foods until the final course, slices of a three-layer Black Forest chocolate cake.

Throughout the meal Drusilla asked questions about America. Dick ate quietly while Natasha occasionally interjected a comment into the conversation.

“I hear that time is very important to your people,” Drusilla said to Bruce.

“Time is valuable, yes.”

“Is that because of the _bourgeois_ mentality?”

“I’m not sure I understand.” Bruce’s fork was poised over his fish.

Drusilla waved her hand, her diamond ring sparkling in the chandelier light. “The business of your country is business, is it not? Commerce is king.”

“Well, I suppose that’s true…”

“Money is all that matters.”

“That’s true of some people, but not all.” Bruce lifted his wineglass and watched the swirl of light in the light depths. “Appreciation of fine wine and food is not unknown in the hinterlands.”

Drusilla lifted an eyebrow at his dry tone. Natasha said, “Commerce is of importance, Aunt, but I have heard of other interests in the country such as museums and libraries. Mr. Andrew Carnegie endowed many cities and towns with money to build public libraries.” 

Bruce sipped his wine. “Education is very important to us, too. We have fine institutions of higher learning like Harvard and every town has a school. Newspapers and magazines thrive because so many people know how to read.”

Drusilla carefully cut her fish. “That is rudimentary education for the masses, not elites. And I highly doubt that Harvard can match any of the great universities of Europe.”

Bruce kept his irritation from showing on his face. He had dealt with European snobbery before, and he was a guest in the Countess’ house.

“Harvard can’t compare with the longevity of some European universities, certainly, but it has some top-notch professors. I should know; I’m a graduate.”

Drusilla responded to Bruce’s smile with one of her own. “What did you study?”

Bruce chuckled. “Business, but I also took courses on philosophy, history and science.”

A spark of interest appeared in the Countess’ eyes. “Tell me about these courses.”

Bruce was happy to do so. He was proud of his alma mater and glad that after a rough start, he had made an effort and done far better than a ‘gentleman’s C’.

He was good at painting the picture of life at Harvard. He was pleased to see the interest in Drusilla’s eyes. Despite her snobbishness she seemed to be genuinely interested in America.

Even more pleasing was Dick’s interest. The dancer looked totally absorbed in his meal but Bruce knew better. Dick was listening intently.

“And it’s true, we celebrated a bit, ahem, excessively, after we beat Yale in The Game.”

“So this game of football is popular?” Drusilla asked.

“Pretty much. Very big at the colleges.”

“Did you play?” Dick asked.

Bruce smiled at him. “Quarterback.”

“You have to teach me this game. And baseball, too!”

Bruce laughed. “I’ll happily teach you the finer points of both games.”

Dick’s smile rivaled the chandelier's blaze and Bruce’s heart fluttered. He was getting his lover back; he just _knew_ it.


	7. Infinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce goes riding while Dick rehearses.

  
_Ride the wind,_   
_As the day_   
_Stretches out_   
_Beyond_   
_The horizon._   


**Count Alexei Barishnikoff**  
 **"Ride The Wind"**  
 **1859 C.E.**

When Bruce came down to breakfast the next morning, he learned that Dick and Natasha would be going into the city for rehearsals in the morning. They would be back by lunchtime and would keep up the schedule until the following week, when they would start later but stay in town for their performances.

Drusilla offered Bruce the use of the stables. He happily accepted. It was a beautiful day and riding appealed to him very much.

He said goodbye to Dick and Natasha in the foyer and was pleased to observe Dick watching him as he strode up the staircase. The mirror on the wall that had just been installed between two alcoves was coming in handy already. He refrained from whistling, but Alfred declared that he had “a canary-eating grin on your face, sir.”

Bruce’s grin widened. “I believe you’re right, Alfred.”

Alfred manfully restrained from rolling his eyes. “I will get your riding boots, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Bruce quickly put his boots on and stood up from the bed, surveying himself in the full-length mirror. The rich material of the brown riding habit and shiny boots made a fine picture.

“You look tip-top, Master Bruce.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” He adjusted his cravat. “How was dinner last night in the kitchen?”

“More than adequate. The food here is quite good and the staff was friendly.”

“Good.” Bruce had worried about Alfred during dinner. He knew that he couldn’t insist that his friend be seated with him at the dining room table, so he hoped that Alfred was enjoying a peaceful dinner. “I’m sure the conversation was more diverting than in the dining room.”

“At least the vernacular was,” Alfred said dryly.

Bruce laughed. He combed his hair and was ready to go downstairs when Alfred spoke again.

“They seemed quite interested in America.”

“Perhaps influenced by the Countess. Though I suppose they could be interested on their own.”

“You are a fine representative.”

Bruce laughed again. “I hope so.” He put his comb down on the dresser. “I’ll be out until luncheon.”

“Very good, sir.”

Bruce went downstairs and out to the stables. He enjoyed looking over the horses, fine specimens of horseflesh, in his educated opinion. A thin boy with a shock of straw-colored hair ambled over to the stall where Bruce was standing.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Bruce petted the nose of the mare in the stall. “Yes, you can. I’m interested in riding this morning.” 

“You experienced?”

“I am.”

“How long?”

Amused, Bruce said, “Since I was five.”

The stable boy looked satisfied. “This way, sir.”

The boy led Bruce to the end of the line of stalls. The next-to-last stall held a big, strawberry roan that was chomping on oats as its tail switched.

“Strawberry is a good, solid horse, sir. He’s got some spirit but won’t buck you off like Black Bolt.”

“Black Bolt?”

The boy nodded solemnly. “The Head Groom is out ridin’ him now.”

Bruce cocked his head. “You’re not Russian, are you?”

“No, sir.” He grinned. “Me speakin’ give me away?”

“Yes, your English accent is a dead giveaway,” Bruce teased.

The boy laughed. “I’ll get your tack, sir.”

As the boy dashed off, Bruce called after him, “What’s your name?”

“Jack!”

The roan came over to nudge Bruce, who responded by petting the horse’s nose. He took an apple out of his pocket that he had picked up from the foyer table on his way out and offered it to Strawberry. The horse noisily chomped on it and Bruce continued petting him.

A few minutes later, Jack entered the stall and led Strawberry out to the space between the double rows of stalls. He led the horse out to Bruce ten minutes later fully tacked. He held the reins out to Bruce.

“Here you go, sir.”

“Thank you, Jack.” Bruce took the reins and swung up into the saddle. “There you go, boy,” he said soothingly as he patted the horse’s mane. He galloped down the lane and let Strawberry have a good run.

Bruce smiled as he continued the run. The air was fresh and the sun warm as riders and horse galloped down the lane and veered off into a meadow with patches of colorful vegetation. He felt supremely confident in his horsemanship and his ability to win Dick back.

_He’s wary like a little bird unsure of whether to take what I have to offer._

& & & & & &

“All right, ten minutes’ rest.”

Dick was glad to hear their director’s order. As Pierre went to his office, Dick sat on a table backstage. Natasha leaned against the wall and smoked a cigarette.

“Your aunt is quite a lady.”

Natasha blew out a ring of smoke. “She is. She seems quite taken with your _amore.”_

Dick laughed. “He’s not my _amore.”_

“And why not?”

The dancer shrugged. “There’s no future in it.”

Natasha crossed an arm over her mid-section. “Since when do you require a future, _dahlink?_ He is a fling, no?”

“No.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “You have not fallen for him?” Dick avoided her eyes. “So it is true?”

“What if it is?” Dick’s tone was defensive.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Dick…”

“Look, nothing will come of it, all right?” Dick hopped off the table. “I’m going to do some stretching exercises.”

He could feel Natasha’s eyes on him but he refused to look back. He went out to the stage and began stretching.

_Love with Bruce Wayne is a dead end. He’s a rich American who will be going back to the United States and I’ll be here in Europe, living my passion._

He sighed as he stretched out his left leg, feeling the blood flow. His previous liaisons had been so easy, just fun and gifts and no romantic feelings.

_All right, I did kind of fall for a few, but that was way back at the beginning of my dance career._

He stretched his other leg and thought of Bruce. They really did have a wonderful evening in Tuscany and fun sightseeing in Rome

_And his body is so athletic and his intelligence is really attractive._

Dick stretched his arms high up over his head and arched his back. He had enjoyed the nights in bed, of course, but had also reveled in discussing books and plays with Bruce. So many socialites were either empty-headed or thought he was. It had been a refreshing change.

As he performed another series of exercises, he wondered why he couldn’t enjoy what he had for now. Bruce was clearly offering it.

_I want him._ He arched his foot. _The trouble is, I love him._

There. He’d said it to himself.

Dick bent all the way back, his head touching the stage. He felt like the rubber man in the circus, able to stretch out to infinity.

He had never told anyone his feelings about his sense of his body and what he could do with it. He chuckled. If anyone could hear his thoughts, they would accuse him of lewdness. He preferred to think of it as creative thinking.

_Maybe I should ask Bruce how much he appreciated my creative body._

Dick laughed out loud this time. No one even turned their heads. They were accustomed to occasional outbursts of Dick Grayson joy.

& & & & & &

That evening at dinner, Drusilla said, “I am planning a whist party. You are all invited, of course.”

“That sounds like fun, Auntie.” Natasha buttered a hot wheat roll.

“I am glad you approve.” Drusilla rang the little silver bell she kept on her right. One of the maids came out from the kitchen immediately.

“Yes, madam ?”

“Dessert, please.”

The maid curtsied and departed silently. Bruce sipped his wine.

“Are you a good whist player, Mr. Wayne?”

“I’m a fair hand at the game.” He chuckled. “Alfred is not too happy with my other card-playing skills. He says that I should focus on other pursuits.”

Drusilla lifted an eyebrow. “Your manservant said that to you?”

“Yes.” Bruce smiled fondly. “He says that card-playing is fine for a gentleman, but one must be careful of excess.”

“He sounds like a wise man,” Natasha said.

“But a bit familiar. Are all servants in America so familiar with their employers?” Drusilla asked.

Bruce was not about to go into the particulars of his relationship with Alfred but said, “No, it’s not the usual, but what Alfred and I have suits us.”

The maids came in with dessert and Dick smiled at Bruce. Bruce returned his smile and directed one toward Natasha for her support. He concentrated on his strawberry meringue pie with a satisfied smile on his face.

& & & & & &

Bruce snarked about it being a ‘busman’s holiday’ but went along with Dick and Natasha as they went to a performance of _Sleeping Beauty_ staged by the Imperial Ballet School. Dick wanted to see the up-and-coming Vaslav Nijinsky in action.

Bruce and Dick sat next to each other and held hands once the lights were dimmed. The ballet began and when Nijinsky danced onstage, his magnetic personality captivated the audience. Bruce watched as Dick followed every move Nijinsky made with intense concentration. He had to admit that the man was talented.

Bruce was glad of the novelty of a different ballet. He had memorized Dick’s ballet a long time ago.

It was a mesmerizing performance. Bruce could see why this young dancer was creating waves in the ballet world. His style was similar to Dick’s, strong yet graceful.

After the performance, Natasha sent a spray of flowers and a note inviting her old friend Nijinsky to dinner. The trio waited backstage, and Nijinsky sent word that he would meet them at _Maximoff’s._

They waited for a bit at the restaurant but finally ordered, Natasha shrugging and saying, “He probably has brushed us off.” They enjoyed oysters and caviar and were drinking champagne with dessert when Nijinsky finally showed up. 

He did not cause a stir, because Bruce was surprised to see that he was quite ordinary looking.

Vaslav Nijinsky was a man of slender build with brown hair and eyes. His face was rather ordinary, and if you passed him on the street, you would probably not even take notice of him. Yet his movements were graceful, and as Nijinsky arrived at the table, Bruce saw the faintest hint of glitter around his eyes.

“Vaslav, we have dined already,” Natasha drawled.

The dancer took a seat. “It is of little consequence. I will drink champagne.”

“Would you like something to eat, Mr. Nijinsky?” Bruce asked.

Nijinsky waved his hand negligently. “Natasha, why are you suddenly interested in the Imperial Ballet School again?” 

“I am always interested in you, Vaslav. I see you have not lost your form.”

Nijinsky pretended disinterest but Bruce could see him stealing glances at Dick. At first he was jealous but quickly realized that Nijinsky had other things on his mind besides Dick’s looks.

“And who is this gentleman?”

“Mr. Richard Grayson, and this is Mr. Bruce Wayne.”

Nijinsky barely spared a glance for Bruce. “You are not a ballet dancer.”

“No, I’m an American millionaire.”

Dick nearly choked on his champagne as he stifled his laughter. Natasha smirked as she ate a piece of cream pastry.

“Your dancing is amazing, Mr. Nijinsky,” Dick said as he coughed.

“Of course, Mr. Grayson. You have some talent in the traditional ballets.”

“I would like to do modern dance, too.”

“Modern dance is what we should be concentrating on.”

“The Imperial Ballet will never go that way,” Natasha said.

“I will find a patron who is willing to experiment.”

Natasha cut a piece of flaky pastry. “Lofty ideas, Vaslav, but the ballet world is very stodgy.”

“So we take it by storm.”

“What kind of ideas do you have?” Dick asked.

“Ah, revolutionary ones. If I had the opportunity, I would change the face of ballet.”

Bruce thought that the man was incredibly arrogant, but he had been around enough artistic types to know that Nijinsky’s attitude was not that unusual. Dick and Natasha were exceptions, Dick with a low level of diva behavior, while Natasha possessed a higher level but was still far from the worst that Bruce had ever seen.

“You are pipe-dreaming, _tovarisch,”_ said Natasha.

“I do not think so,” Nijinsky sniffed.

“I hope you are right.”

For the rest of the evening the dancers talked about moves and other technical aspects of their profession, then segued into gossip. Bruce was content to listen, happy to see Dick so happy. 

_Dick is really a dancer at heart. He’ll always need this world of ballet or at least showmanship._

Dick was sparkling with excitement and this time Nijinsky was taking notice. Bruce gritted his teeth but clamped down on his jealousy. The last thing he needed was to show Dick how possessive he could be. Dick knew he could be possessive, just not how deep that particular emotion ran.

_Though if you make a move on him, Nijinsky, I’ll have to make mine._

Bruce’s smile was grim as he sipped his champagne.


	8. Whistful Thinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Countess hosts a whist party.

_"You can learn a lot about a person by playing cards with them."_

  


**Beauragard Clayton**  
 **Riverboat Gambler**  
 **1842 C.E.**

The staff prepared the secondary parlor for the whist party. The room was not as formal as the primary parlor, a room so stiff and fossilized that the double doors were rarely opened and the heavy drapes rarely drawn back.

The secondary parlor was much more cheerful, decorated in greens and blues with a touch of violet. Card tables were set up and comfortable chairs arranged around the tables. Decks of cards were set on each table and each setting held a notepad, quill pen and inkstand. Tea would be served along with molasses cookies. Dick loved the cookies and had already eaten a handful as Verda the head cook laughingly chased him out of the kitchen.

“Hurry, Alfred, I want to get downstairs,” said Bruce as he searched for his cufflinks.

“I thought you liked to be fashionably late?”

“Ha, ha.”

“Or do you wish to encounter young Mr. Grayson in the hall?”

Bruce rummaged through his jewelry box. “If I meet him, what of it?”

“Indeed, what of it?”

Bruce ignored Alfred’s dry tone. “I’m looking for my square cufflinks.”

“Of course, sir.” Alfred checked over the satinwood box and produced the silver cufflinks.

Bruce huffed. “Thank you.” He affixed the cufflinks to his shirt cuffs. Next he buttoned his light-blue vest and shrugged on his dark-blue suit coat. He ran a comb through his hair and adjusted his pale yellow cravat adorned with a sapphire stickpin. “Have a good evening.” 

“I shall, sir.”

Bruce was glad that Alfred would get the night off. He left his room and lingered in the hall. As the door to Dick’s room opened, he pretended he was just leaving his room.

“Ah, I see you’re ready,” Dick said with a smile.

“Nice outfit,” Bruce said.

Dick beamed. He was wearing a dark-green suit with pale yellow vest and wine-red cravat affixed with a gaudy diamond stickpin. His feet were shod in green slippers, the entire outfit just bohemian enough to be charming. Some of the nobility would consider it fascinating.

They brushed hands as they walked down the long hall toward the staircase. Sharing a smile, they headed downstairs together.

Guests were starting to arrive. Dick immediately turned on the charm and the Russian nobility was suitably impressed, titillated by his bohemian clothes and personality. 

Drusilla made a grand entrance and was the quintessential hostess, aided by Natasha and the crisply efficient staff. Drusilla led them into the parlor and the party began as the cards were dealt. The maids poured tea and the cookies were served.

Bruce and Dick were at a table with a matronly woman and a younger man. The woman wore her brown hair fashionably coiffed to frame a hawkish face and her brown suit was finely-tailored. Bruce immediately divined here to be a sharp woman who missed nothing. She introduced herself as Duchess Mirelle Karlinkov. 

The man was dark blond, slender, and dressed in a modest dark-brown suit and stiff collar. Bruce noticed the cuffs were slightly frayed. He guessed the young man came from a genteel family fallen on hard times. The young man kept looking over at a pretty blond young woman at the next table.

“This distracted gentleman is Mr. Valentin Korsikoff,” the Duchess said dryly.

The preoccupied player turned back guiltily to the table. “Sorry.”

“Quite all right, Val. Now look sharp. You are my partner and I intend to win.” 

Bruce smiled. He had a feeling that the Duchess would be a worthy opponent. Dick smiled across the table at him with a gleam in his eye.

_So, a challenge appeals to Dick, too. Good._

The cards were drawn and Mirelle was dealer with low card. Using a second deck, she dealt out thirteen cards to each player. She narrowed her eyes as the cards were dealt. Bruce hid his smile. He and Dick would have to be careful with their signals. The Duchess would be on guard. The last card was turned up for the trump suit, diamonds.

Bruce thoroughly enjoyed the challenge. He and Dick managed to convey signals but only by the subtlest flick of a lash or quirk of the mouth. As Bruce played his hand, he nearly jumped as Dick’s foot nudged his leg under the table.

_Oh, you little tease._

Dick studiously focused on his cards while Bruce tried to keep from laughing and Mirelle looked at him suspiciously.

“Val, dear, it’s your turn,” she said with a touch of asperity.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Look sharp, boy. Emily isn’t going anywhere.”

He leaned forward conspiratorially. Everyone else leaned forward instinctively to match him.

“Vladimir Molotov is her partner.”

Mirelle frowned. “Hmm, that is bad news, but Emily can take care of herself.”

Val looked nervously over at the next table. “I suppose so.” He quickly returned his attention to his cards and played the hand.

“Very good,” Mirelle said approvingly.

As they continued playing, conversation drifted over from the next table.

“Your turn, Vlad,” spoke a matronly woman. 

“All right.” Vladimir presented his card. “Honestly, did you hear about that incident at Volgostad?”

“No, what happened?” Emily asked.

“The stinking Jews caused a riot. The mayor had to send in troops from St. Petersburg to quell it.”

“A riot? Why would the Jews incite a riot?” asked the matron.

“Who knows about Jews? Though some say the dirty Gypsies egged them on.”

“Why would the Gypsies do that?” Emily asked this time. She sounded highly skeptical.

“I don’t know. Who can trust either a Gypsy or a Jew?”

Bruce noticed Dick’s mouth tighten. He was pleased that the young man was irritated by such blatant prejudice. He knew that Vladimir Molotov’s opinions were in the majority, but Bruce was not one of them. 

Mirelle’s lip curled in disgust as she played a card. “Vladimir, people are trying to play.”

“And good conversation is part of the deal, Duchess.” Vladimir stroked his mustache. Brown eyes gleamed with malice as his handsome face looked placid, but Bruce figured that a raging bigot lurked below the surface. On the other hand, he did not bother to keep it a secret.

Bruce dearly wanted to wipe that smirk off Vladimir’s face. He knew plenty of men like this, nobles who considered themselves far superior to everyone else.

He played his next hand, hoping that Dick picked up his signal. Despite being distracted, Val was playing a good game, perhaps out of fear of the Duchess, but whatever the reason, Bruce knew that he and Dick had to stay sharp.

Unfortunately, Dick missed his signal and misplayed his hand. Bruce frowned. His partner was very distracted. What had upset him?

_Is he that angry about Molotov’s remarks?_

The game continued and Bruce and Dick came back strong, but in the end Mirelle and Val barely beat them.

“Good game, Bruce,” said Mirelle. She slapped her cards down.

“Thank you, Duchess. You, m’lady, are a cutthroat at cards.”

She laughed heartily. “Thank you, Bruce.” She looked at Dick. “You are a sharp card player, young man.”

“Thank you, Duchess.” Dick flashed a smile but Bruce sensed that he was still off-balance. He appreciated that Dick disliked Molotov’s slurs but to have the incident affect him so deeply was curious.

The next game was faster, and this time Bruce and Dick were the winners. By the time the evening finished, they had won seven games out of twelve, much to Mirelle’s disgust and their amusement. Even Val’s eyes sparkled with merriment.

There was a light supper served in the dining room while the guests mingled and chatted, some boasting about their victories while others lamented their losses. Bruce decided that it was wiser to refrain from boasting. He doubted that the Duchess would be amused. 

Dick was at the other end of the room and charming a group. Mirelle was talking to Drusilla and Val and Emily were talking in a corner, unaware of anyone else with their heads together. Amused, Bruce left them to their mutual fascination.

He saw Vladimir Molotov talking with a group by the dining room table. He slowly made his way over to them, taking an interest in the raspberry tarts on the table while listening.

“So we have to remain on guard against the schemers in our midst,” said Vladimir.

A reed-thin woman with a bit too much eye make-up (scandalous!) fluttered her handkerchief at him. “Oh, Vlad, dear, you do carry on! Enjoy our hostess’ repast and be merry.” 

Vladimir laughed. “Oh, Emma, you are priceless. Just laugh and have a good time, eh?”

She smiled, her dark-red silk skirt rustling as she moved closer to him. “Good times are precious.”

Bruce bit into a raspberry tart, the sharp tang delicious on his tongue. He frowned as Vladimir laughed again. That laugh irritated him. He quickly covered his reaction and searched for Dick.

He was like a ray of sunshine in the room. His laughter was something pleasing, not irritating. Bruce’s heart was uplifted as he listened to Dick’s laughter. 

When the party broke up, Bruce made sure that he ended up by Dick’s side. They ascended the staircase and Bruce asked, “Did you have a good time?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, it was interesting.”

“Are you sure?”

“What?”

“You seem distracted.” He wanted to say ‘upset’ but refrained.

“Oh, I guess that’s true. Rehearsals have been brutal lately.”

“No doubt. Well, get a good night’s sleep.” Bruce leaned forward and nearly succeeded in kissing Dick when his companion pulled away.

“Good night, Bruce.”

Dick disappeared into his room while Bruce looked at his closed door, finally retiring to his room.


	9. Sleigh Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first snow proves to be inspiring.

  
_Sleigh bells jingle_   
_While we mingle_   
_And the snow_   
_Is pure_   
_And clean._

_Let me breathe_   
_In air so cold,_   
_That I become_   
_So bold,_   
_Your hand_   
_To hold._

  


**Alan Deerfield**   
**"Romance For All Seasons"**   
**1888 C.E.**

“It’s snowing!” Dick’s eyes were sparkling as he greeted Bruce at the door of the American’s room.

“I know.” Bruce could not help grinning. Dick’s enthusiasm was infectious.

“We have to take the sleigh out.”

“We do?” Bruce asked in amusement.

“Yes, we do.”

“We’ll have breakfast, _then_ a sleigh ride.” 

At breakfast, Drusilla was just as amused as Bruce by Dick’s excitement. “Of course you may have use of the sleigh, child.”

“Thank you, Countess.” 

Natasha cut up her eggs. “I do not see what all the fuss is about. After all, you will see plenty of snow during a Russian winter.”

“Well, that’s true, Natasha, but it _is_ the first snow,” said Bruce.

She rolled her eyes while Bruce and Dick exchanged a smile.

& & & & & &

Dick’s cheeks were pink from the cold, his blue eyes sparkling like sapphires as he smiled at Bruce. Bruce answered with a smile of his own as the sleigh zipped over the pristine snow. Bells jingled and the horses glided in perfect rhythm. The driver was warmly-dressed and a wine-red blanket was draped over Bruce and Dick’s laps. Bruce reached over to grasp his companion’s gloved hand.

The air was cold but bracing. Except for the sleight bells, it was quiet as only winter could be. Bruce was glad that Dick had suggested the ride.

The estate was large, the fields offering space for the sleigh to roam freely. Evergreen trees bordered the fields in the distance.

“Can’t you see the Cossacks in the distance?” Dick asked as he leaned close to Bruce to be heard over the jingling bells.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

Bruce realized that Dick was being playful. “Ah, yes, I see them right over that hill.”

Dick laughed, delighted that Bruce was playing along. “They are the best horsemen in the world.”

“Fierce and independent.” _Like you._

Dick smiled. He squeezed Bruce’s hand and the sleigh flew over the snow as Bruce dreamed of spangled Cossacks and graceful trick riders.

& & & & & &

Dinner was the usual superb affair with crisp chicken, snow peas, and creamy mashed potatoes. Vegetable soup had started things off, and Drusilla promised chocolate cream pie for dessert.

“Did you enjoy your sleigh ride?” asked the Countess. 

“Very much so.” Bruce sprinkled paprika on his potatoes. “It was gorgeous out there.”

Dick smirked as he concentrated on his chicken.

& & & & & &

The evenings were usually spent in the parlor, reading and talking. Bruce asked Natasha, “When do you start performances?”

“Next Saturday. We will be performing _Swan Lake_ here in St. Petersburg before we head to Moscow.”

“Moscow, ah, yes. You’ll be appearing at the Bolshoi?”

“Most definitely.”

“The ancient city on the banks of the Volga.”

“It’s an amazing place, I hear,” Dick said. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“You will love it.”

Conversation continued about the grand old city, but gradually Drusilla retired for the night, quickly followed by Natasha.

Dick picked up the book from the pier table next to him and flipped through the gilt-edged pages. “That was a fine ride this morning.”

“It certainly was.”

Dick’s attention was on his book…until he looked up through his lashes. “I felt very happy.”

Bruce swallowed. “I’m glad.” 

“Remember the night in the villa when we celebrated Halloween?”

“Yes, I’d told you about the American custom and Alfred helped us decorate with gourds and streamers and we had our own version of trick-or-treat.”

Dick laughed. “Oh, yes.” His tone was fond. “I like Halloween.”

Bruce stood up and walked over to Dick. He leaned over and said, “Want to celebrate the first snowfall?”

“The first of many.”

Bruce was highly encouraged by this response. He brushed his lips over Dick’s and took his hand. Dick stood and went with Bruce up to his room.

Moonlight glinted off freshly-fallen snow as they stood by the bed, slowly removing each other’s clothes. Very quickly they were both nude, Bruce grasping Dick’s shoulders.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Dick’s smile sparkled in the darkness. “I could say the same.”

Bruce smirked. “I hope so.”

Dick laughed as he put his arm around Bruce’s shoulder and drew him down for a long, deep kiss. He flopped back down on the bed and Bruce followed, covering the smaller man’s body with his own. Kisses and caresses were hot and passionate, strong hands gliding over silken flesh.

Bruce ground their groins together, reveling in the sensation of their cocks rubbing against each other. He groaned at the delightful friction. He rained kisses down on Dick’s face and throat, kissing each shoulder before starting on his chest.

Dick purred, his nimble fingers carding through Bruce’s thick hair and skittering down his lover’s exposed ribs. Bruce squirmed as Dick laughed.

“Who knew that the Prince of Gotham was ticklish?”

Bruce growled, “Keep that tidbit to yourself,” as Dick giggled when Bruce nuzzled his neck.

They laughed and kissed and Bruce’s mouth found one of Dick’s nipples, quickly reducing the younger man to writhing beneath him. Bruce took his time lavishing attention on each nipple, sucking gently at first and then harder. Whimpers and moans were his reward.

Strong hands cupped his buttocks as Bruce moved his lips down Dick’s chest, teasing at his navel as he reached his stomach. Dick’s hands went to his shoulders as Bruce blew gently over his lover’s cock. Dick groaned again and panted, “Hurry up!” 

Smiling devilishly, Bruce swirled his tongue around the head, tasting the drops of pre-come that promised so much more to savor. He took his time until Dick begged him in a language he couldn’t understand. He took pity on his companion and slowly took Dick into his mouth.

Bruce sucked as he feasted his eyes on the sweat-slicked body beneath him as Dick moved and twisted on the dark-blue sheets. He applied all his skill and was rewarded by Dick’s shout as he came into Bruce’s mouth.

He swallowed his lover’s seed down, the slightly bitter taste unique. He never tired of the taste. Releasing Dick’s cock, he kissed the younger man’s knee as he stroked his stomach.

“You’re beautiful.”

Dick opened his eyes and smiled lazily. “You’re a sweet talker.”

“I hope so.”

Dick’s hand trailed down to Bruce’s cock. “We should take care of that.”

“Now that sounds like a good idea.”

Dick rolled over and opened the nightstand drawer. “Always prepared, aren’t you?”

“Better than being caught short.”

“You, short?” Dick grasped Bruce’s cock. “Never.”

Bruce’s cock twitched in that warm hand as Dick held out a jar. Bruce unscrewed the lid and Dick dipped his fingers in after letting go of Bruce’s cock, applying a liberal amount to his lover’s manhood. 

Bruce shivered at Dick’s touch. “Mmm.”

Dick grinned at Bruce’s moan. “And I thought I was the impatient one.”

“You’re a tease, you know that?”

Dick laughed and finished prepping Bruce, who took some cream and reached between the dancer’s legs, preparing him. When they were ready, Dick hooked his legs over Bruce’s shoulders.

“Take me hard and fast.”

“Oh, no worries about that.”

Bruce eased into Dick, heat surrounding him as he established a rhythm that was best for both of them. Dick’s face reflected utter bliss and Bruce remembered a similar scene on Halloween.

& & & & & &

_The candles glowed in the gourds carved into ghoulish faces. Dick had eagerly joined in the fun. Alfred had made spaghetti with spicy tomato sauce and garlic bread, lamenting the absence of pumpkin to make a proper pie. Instead he made apple pie dusted with cinnamon and cookies shaped like pumpkins and bats, amusing Dick greatly._

_After dinner ghost stories were told as they sat by the fireplace while eating cookies and drinking apple cider._

_Eventually they both retired upstairs after Alfred had gone up a short time earlier, ending up in the same position as…_

& & & & & &

…they were now, Bruce teasing Dick by calling him ‘bewitching’.

Dick opened his eyes and Bruce saw that he remembered All Hallow’s Eve, too.

“You’re magical, Brucie,” Dick cooed exaggeratedly.

Bruce chuckled and thrust in a little harder, hitting the sweet spot. Dick yelped as pleasure washed over him. Bruce’s own pleasure came very quickly after his companion’s as he felt the surge of energy.

He slipped out of Dick’s body and gathered the younger man close. “Halloween was never like this.”

“Actually, it _was_ like this.”

Bruce laughed and threw the covers over the both of them.


	10. Giving Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce receives a pleasant surprise.

_"There is nothing more American than Thanksgiving."_

  


**Senator William Bradford**  
 **(D)-Massachusetts**  
 **1892 C.E.**

“I see that you are quite chipper this morning, sir.”

Bruce looked at Alfred. He felt like sighing or laughing and chose the latter. “Quite chipper, Alfred.”

Alfred smiled knowingly.

The two of them went down to breakfast. Bruce noticed Dick talking to Magda, a pretty brunette maid. For a moment he was jealous but quickly shook it off. His possessiveness could cause trouble if he was not careful.

Dick took his leave of Magda and joined Bruce in the dining room. The sideboard was filled with covered dishes of eggs, sausages and pork. Each place setting had a small bowl of fresh fruit by its plate. Pear juice was poured in each glass.

“Breakfast is always top-notch around here,” said Bruce as he scooped out some eggs.

Dick chose some plump, juicy sausages to put on his plate. “You enjoy good food.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“Some people don’t. Some people don’t care about food at all.”

Bruce moved on to the sausages. “Shows what they know. Food is essential, and not just to keep the body going.”

“Oh?” Dick lifted a cover and took some pork.

“Yes, sharing a meal is important in every society.”

“Very Freudian.” Dick smiled saucily. 

Bruce shook his head fondly.

They finished perusing the sideboard and sat down. “You told me about your American holiday of Thanksgiving,” Dick remarked.

“First Halloween, now Thanksgiving. I’m giving you a crash course.”

Dick cut into his sausage. “Thanksgiving sounds like a great excuse for feasting.”

“It is. It’s also a time to reflect on what to be thankful for in our lives.”

“An admirable holiday,” said Drusilla as she entered the dining room.

Bruce and Dick stood until she was seated, and Dick said, “Yes, very admirable.” He sat down and ate a piece of sausage.

“It was started by Pilgrims?” The Countess drank her juice and a maid came in with a hot plate of food and set it before her, silently returning to the kitchen.

“Yes, a joint celebration with the Indians.” Bruce took a bite of his egg.

“A pity the Pilgrims ruined the neighborhood,” Dick teased.

Bruce lifted an eyebrow. “I suppose from the Indian point-of-view, it was.”

“Let me guess. Your ancestors came over on the _Mayflower,”_ said Natasha as she came in and went over to the sideboard.

“You’d be correct.”

Natasha rolled her eyes as Dick laughed. Bruce coolly sipped his juice.

& & & & & &

The Opening Night in St. Petersburg was a smashing success. Bruce felt a swell of pride as he watched Dick dance, the applause long and loud. He was also pleased to watch Natasha, who deserved the title of _prima ballerina._

In the days that followed, Dick and Natasha rose later in the mornings and rehearsed in the afternoons in town, performing at eight o’clock. For the first few nights they went out on the town with patrons-of-the-arts who supported ballet in St. Petersburg, but gradually they simply returned to the estate with Bruce each night after the performance.

More than once Bruce saw Dick and Natasha whispering. He said to Alfred, “Those two are up to something.”

“Perhaps, sir. Then again, you might just be paranoid.”

Bruce huffed. “Even paranoids have enemies.”

& & & & & &

Bruce awoke on Thursday, enjoying the warmth of Dick’s body beside him. Dick snuggled closer in his sleep.

Bruce regretted leaving the comfort of the bed, but he had to go down earlier than Dick. If they both came down at the same late hour, tongues would wag.

_Good thing I can take a nap if I’m too tired. The house is quiet in the afternoon. Too quiet._

He missed his beautiful dancer, but at least he had Dick in his bed every night.

There was an exercise room downstairs that Drusilla had set up for her niece years ago. There were exercise bars for stretching and mirrors for the dancers to watch their movements, and mats rolled up against the wall. He had often watched Dick and Natasha go through their exercises, stretching strong, limber bodies and then rehearsing their routines for the ballet. Both had worn skintight costumes that showed off their bodies and Bruce had found himself a little flushed.

He smiled as he cracked open the door of Dick’s room. The hall was empty. He exited the room and sauntered down the hall as if coming from the water closet.

Very quickly he grabbed his toothbrush and tooth powder from his room and headed toward the water closet for real. He washed , brushed his teeth, and dressed in his room. As he went downstairs he could smell wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. He asked Magda what was going on.

The pretty little brunette answered, “It is a light breakfast this morning, sir.”

“Wait, I want to know…”

But Magda was already back in the kitchen. Puzzled, Bruce went into the dining room.

Magda had been right. Toast, fruit and light, fluffy pancakes the size of silver dollars were set out on the sideboard along with an urn of hot coffee. 

He filled his plate, poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. The smells from the kitchen had not been that of breakfast food.

He could hear whispering out in the hall. Perhaps it was time to make like Sherlock Holmes and find the answer to this mystery.

Dick and Natasha entered the dining room and got their breakfasts. As soon as they sat down Bruce asked, “Okay, what are you Bobbsey Twins up to?” At their blank looks he sighed. “What’s going on?”

“Going on?” asked Dick.

“That’s right, going on.” Bruce frowned. “And why are you two up so early?”

“We do not have a performance tonight,” said Natasha as she cut up a piece of fruit. 

Bruce continued eating but his mind was racing. “That smells like chicken cooking.”

“Lots of chicken,” Dick said placidly as he speared a pancake.

“So why is Verda cooking chickens in the morning? Shouldn’t she be cooking them later for dinner instead of for luncheon?”

“Maybe the Countess wanted to switch things around,” Dick said as he chose fruit next.

Bruce’s suspicions were not allayed. “What else is cooking?”

“Potatoes, turnips, beets, stuffing, and salad.”

“Stuffing?” Bruce felt the Thomas Edison light bulb dawn over his head. “Is this Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Give that man a kewpie doll,” Natasha said smugly.

“We’re having Thanksgiving dinner?” Bruce repeated. 

“That’s right, Sherlock.”

Bruce looked at her sharply. Could she read minds now?

_I wouldn’t put anything past her._

He realized that he was smiling. Even after the deaths of his parents, Alfred had insisted upon observing the holidays. At first he had resisted, unable to face the two empty chairs at the table, but gradually he appreciated Alfred’s efforts and did his best to take part.

He admitted to himself that he was a little homesick. He and Alfred had been on the Grand Tour since spring. There was no more of an American holiday than Thanksgiving.

“That’s quite a menu.”

“Sorry no turkey, but there are none in Russia,” said Natasha regretfully. “I would have liked to try it.”

“Tastes like chicken,” Bruce joked.

Dick grinned. “No pumpkin, either.”

“Ah, well, it’s the meal itself that’s important. And there will be potatoes and stuffing.” He would miss cranberry sauce, but the celebration itself warmed him.

_There’s also the first time celebrating with Dick._

“I’m very pleased at this. Thank you.”

“Our pleasure, Bruce.” Natasha cut another apple slice.

“Alfred was in on this,” Bruce declared.

“Most assuredly, sir.” Alfred was standing in the entryway to the dining room.

“You look entirely too smug, old friend.”

“Quite so.”

Natasha and Dick exchanged amused smiles.

& & & & & &

Bruce was very excited about the dinner, touched that his friends had come up with the idea. The staff took care of setting the table but Bruce asked to help in the kitchen, accustomed to helping Alfred when a big holiday dinner was involved. At first Verda, the head cook, did not think it proper, but Bruce won her over with his charm.

The large kitchen was filled with bustling cooks and scullery maids. The great cast-iron stove was filled with golden-brown chickens and bubbling pots on the top as the maids scrubbed the pots already used. Verda ran an efficient kitchen.

Alfred took charge of Bruce and directed his young charge to take the potatoes off the stove and place them in a bowl and start mashing. Dick came in and happily set to work with rolled-up sleeves. He shared a smile with Bruce as he worked on the salad.

He wondered what if would be like to be all working together preparing Thanksgiving dinner in the Manor kitchen. It was a nice daydream, though he was not sure if it would ever come true.

The tasks went quickly, and Bruce and Dick were finally shooed out of the kitchen. They put on their suit jackets and went into the dining room where Natasha and Drusilla were already seated. Bruce was pleased to see the pink rosebud china set, as it was ‘the good china’. He shook out a plum-colored linen napkin and draped it over his lap after sitting down.

“Happy Thanksgiving, gentlemen,” Natasha said.

“The same to you, Red,” Bruce said with a wink.

She smirked as she shook out her napkin, too.

The staff began serving the first course of vegetable soup, hot and savory with red pepper flakes. Bruce pronounced it perfect.

“Just one thing missing.” He stood and went into the kitchen as everyone at the table exchanged puzzled looks.

Bruce returned with Alfred and pulled out a chair and asked the elderly gentleman to sit. Alfred looked at the astonished Countess. “With your permission, Countess?” Bruce asked.

“Why, yes.” Drusilla sounded confused and a bit taken aback.

Alfred took his seat and Magda came out with a place setting. Another maid followed her with a bowl of soup. 

“Since the death of my parents, Alfred and I have always celebrated the holidays together.” Bruce resumed eating.

“Ah, yes.” Drusilla still sounded off-balance.

Natasha began a conversation and Dick joined in, for which Bruce was grateful. The last thing he wanted was for Alfred to feel uncomfortable. 

Other courses came out served by smiling maids, who would enjoy their own feast later. Bruce was delighted that they would partake of the dinner as well.

“All wonderful,” he said as he surveyed the table. “The chicken makes a fine substitute for turkey. I love the spices added to it. Tender, moist and flavorful.”

“I am glad you approve,” Drusilla said.

“Very creative. No pumpkin, but turnip. And the potatoes are magnificent! Creamy with chives and butter. Mmm.”

“Buttery peas, too,” Dick said.

Bruce knew that Alfred had done his best with no pumpkin, cranberry, or turkey available. He was pleased to see a platter of green beans come his way. The serving of family-style had been suggested by Dick in the spirit of the holiday, and Drusilla had not objected.

“Such an interesting custom,” Drusilla said as she lifted her wineglass.

“Thank you. It’s a good chance to reflect on what to be thankful for in our lives.”

“Not a bad idea,” Natasha said as she added more butter to her mashed potatoes.

“Well, I thank you all for coming up with this.”

“Actually, it was Dick’s idea.”

Bruce looked at Dick, who suddenly looked shy. “Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome.” Dick picked up his wineglass as he stood and held it out. “I wanted to make you feel like you’ve got a little piece of home.”

Everyone but the Countess stood and they clicked glasses as she raised hers.

Bruce looked at Dick and the younger man smiled as they drank their wine and gave silent thanks for their renewed romance.


	11. Clandestine Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce experiences several encounters while clandestinely watching another.

  
_Shadows fall_   
_Across the snow,_   
_As the lake_   
_Ices over_   
_And the **kulaks** sing,_   
_As winter_   
_Sets in_   
_And the shadows_   
_Scurry_   
_In the dark._   


  


**Andrei Mikovitch**  
 **"The Russian Soul"**  
 **1905 C.E.**

Bruce blew out a ring of smoke as he stood outside the grand Winter Palace. The impressive structure dominated Palace Square with its imposing façade of richly-decorated Ionic columns. The stone decorations had been replaced by lighter metal, but it was difficult to tell at this distance.

Moonlight shimmered on the Neva River, creating a beautiful nighttime scene. Bruce walked back-and-forth to stretch his legs. If he missed the opening of the third act it was all right. He had seen the ballet several times and would not miss Dick. He knew exactly when his lover appeared in the program.

He had to give the Russians credit, their architecture was breathtaking. He looked forward to seeing the Kremlin Palace in Moscow when they left for the capital city next week. He walked back to the opera house as the intermission began to wane.

“Hello, Bruce.”

“Duchess, good to see you again.”

Mirelle smiled. The middle-aged woman was stylishly-dressed, as always. “Here to see _Swan Lake?”_

“Yes.”

“You seem to be quite enamored of this particular ballet.”

“It’s very well-done.”

“Yes, perhaps one of the lead dancer is your main attraction, eh?” Bruce’s stomach tightened. Did the Duchess know? “That Natasha is a skilled dancer.”

Relief swept over him. “Yes, she is. Lovely, too.”

Mirelle smiled knowingly. “Come, Egbert, intermission’s almost over.”

A small, balding man standing a few feet away nodded and escorted the Duchess inside.

Bruce grinned as he blew out another smoke ring. He would finish this smoke and head inside, too.

“Well, look who is here.”

Bruce turned to face Vladimir Molotov. The Russian smiled a smarmy smile.

“Hello, Molotov.”

“Looks like you are taking in the ballet.”

“Looks like.” Bruce puffed out another ring and peered at Molotov through the smoke.

“How long will you be in town?”

“Oh, for awhile.”

“Trying to soak up culture?” Molotov flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulder.

“There’s a lot of it here in Europe.”

“In Mother Russia there is much of it and none better.”

Bruce finished his cheroot and dropped the butt into a receptacle. “I’ll agree with that.” 

Molotov’s smile was unnerving. Bruce yawned and said, “I’ve got to go inside. Intermission’s almost over.”

“Oh, do not worry. They rarely start on time. This is Russia.”

“Yes, well, I’m an American and like to be on time.”

“Ah, yes, rush, rush, rush! You people miss out on so much.”

“Some do, but keeping note of time builds fortunes.” 

“Yes, what the French call _nouveau riche.”_

“Money is money.”

“Now that is an American thing to say."

Bruce turned up the collar of his dress coat. The wind was icy off the Neva. “I suppose it is.”

“All you think about is the acquiring of money. It is so crass to talk about it. A true gentleman never talks about money or thinks about it.”

“No, you just live the high life while scorning the men who make the money for your fortunes.”

Malotov’s smile grew brittle. “Spoken like a true merchant.”

Bruce shrugged. “Better an American merchant than a Russian noble who lives off the sweat of the serfs.”

“High talk from a man whose countrymen kept slaves until a generation ago.”

“Well, that’s true. But we freed them in 1863, the same year you did your serfs.” Bruce pushed past the Russian. “And, now I have to get inside.”

Bruce walked into the opera house. He was galled by having to concede the slavery point to Molotov. And the Negroes at home were not much better off than the Russian serfs.

He was too unsettled to return to his box. Instead he went backstage. 

No one gave him a second glance. They were accustomed to seeing the rich, young American roaming around backstage. He had directed Alfred to make a sizeable donation to the troupe to cover his interest in Dick when he wanted special access. Besides, it was a company worth his donation. They were very talented and he enjoyed playing patron-of-the-arts. 

Bruce was careful not to get in the way and become a nuisance, money or not. He watched the stagehands hustle to get the scenery in place as the curtain was ready to go up.

“Hi, Mr. Wayne.”

“Oh, hello, Clint.”

Clint Barton was a muscular man in his early twenties with short brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He and Bruce had hit it off since he was an American. Those eyes looked quizzically at Bruce.

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, just a little aggravated by meeting Vladimir Molotov outside.”

“I can understand your reaction.”

“You know him?”

“Let’s say I’ve had encounters with him.”

Dancers hurried out onstage. The curtain rose and the audience applauded. Clint and Bruce watched the routine for a few minutes and Clint said, “Molotov was behind one of the worst pogroms last year during the Revolution.”

“Did the Revolution change much?”

Clint shrugged. “They set up what they call a Duma, but who knows if it’s got teeth? They’ll be meeting after New Year’s in Moscow.”

Bruce smiled as Dick walked past him with a wink. He went onstage to thunderous applause and pride swelled in the American’s chest.

“He’s sure got talent,” Clint observed.

“Very much so.” Bruce crossed his arms. “I take it Molotov isn’t very fond of Jews.” 

“No, not very.” Clint glanced up at the catwalk. “He’s not very fond of Gypsies and Poles, either.”

“Unfortunately, he’s got a lot of company.”

“Yeah.” Clint smiled as Natasha appeared. She smirked and went out on cue, a vision of loveliness in her glittering tutu and crown. “Nat can’t stand him. She’s says he’s the worst of a bad lot.”

Clint and Natasha were close, but not in a romantic sense. Bruce was impressed by Natasha’s lack of snobbery. As a member of Russian nobility, she could have ignored Clint, a mere stagehand, but she would have none of that.

 _I’d love to see her debate Molotov over politics._

He remembered some of the livelier conversations around the dinner table at Oakwood when Natasha and Drusilla had clashed over politics…

& & & & & &

_“But, Aunt, the peasants deserve to live lives free of scraping for food and shelter.”_

_“Of course, dear, and we of the aristocracy give of our largesse to see that they get it.”_

_“But why should they have to depend on us? Why not give them decent wages and land that is truly their own, and not a noble landowner’s? Or why not give them better lives in the factories? The Industrial Revolution is still in its infancy here compared to Europe and America, but there is enough abuse already of the workers. Children as young as eight years old are working fourteen hour days in dirty, dangerous, noisy factories! And it’s not good for adults, either.”_

_“I have no idea about industry, my dear. I am concerned with the land and how the peasants work it. They need direction. They do not have the intelligence to plan out its use for optimum benefit.”_

_“Then we must educate them! They are dullards because they have no time to read or think while chasing the few rubles they can make in a stinking factory or eking out a hardscrabble existence on a rocky patch of ground.”_

& & & & & &

“Nat would read Molotov the riot act,” Clint said.

"I have no doubt.”

The stagehand laughed. “She would cut him to ribbons with her stiletto if he ever threatened her.”

“Her stiletto?”

“Yeah, she’s quite the markswoman. Pistols and rifles, too. Excuse me, I’ve got to go topside.”

Clint climbed up onto the catwalk over the stage.

Bruce would have reason to recall this conversation in a few days.

& & & & & &

Bruce rode Strawberry as he enjoyed the fresh air. The bridal path had been cleared of snow through melting as they had experienced an unusually warm day. Dick was taking a baking lesson from Alfred so Bruce had decided to go riding.

He slowed Strawberry down. He could hear voices off in the distance. He dismounted and peeked over a hedge.

Below him in a snow-covered field, Natasha and Clint were using a crossbow to shoot at a bulls-eye target several yards away. Clint appeared to be teaching Natasha.

Bruce recalled Clint’s words about the ballerina’s skill with various weapons. He took out his field glasses from his saddlebag.

_She’s certainly a woman of many facets._

He watched the target practice. Natasha was really good. Clint fired off a few arrows, hitting the bulls-eye dead center.

_A man of many talents._

Natasha clapped Clint on the back and mounted her horse, riding off to the edge of the woods. Bruce saw a man emerge and Natasha dismounted. He trained his binoculars on the newcomer.

The man was thin and hawk-faced with a goatee. Cold, gray eyes made Bruce shiver.

Something niggled at the back of his mind. He had seen this man somewhere before, but not in person. A photograph, perhaps. 

The man was swathed in a black greatcoat with a fur collar and a typical Russian fur hat. Except for his mysterious appearance from the woods, nothing out of the ordinary.

Bruce watched the meeting. The man gestured and Natasha met him motion-for-motion as they argued. Finally, the man threw up his gloved hands and shook his head, disappearing into the woods. Natasha made a rude gesture and rode back to Clint. The duo rode off across the fields together.

Odd, but then, clandestine activities were practically the national pastime.

Bruce completed his ride before heading back to the manor.


	12. Of Faberge Eggs And Golden Goblets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a command performance for the Czar and Czarina, political talk heats things up at the Kremlin Palace dinner table.

  
_Glitter and gold_   
_Masking the cold_   
_Heart of the Crown_   
_Which will bring it_   
_Down._   


**Irina Malenkiev**  
 **"Of All The Russias"**  
 **1905 C.E.**

Moscow displayed its best assets as the month of December began. The snow was still pure and the city was at its best, especially with Christmas coming up on the Russian Orthodox calendar in January. There were already wreaths on the lampposts and holiday displays in toy stores and fine jewelry shops. Russia’s nobility and merchant class would shop for expensive and grand presents for their friends and families while the serfs struggled to put food on the table.

The Kremlin Palace was impressive, as befit the home of the Czar. It was a set of buildings with over seven hundred rooms, four churches, and a grand splendor equaled only by Buckingham Palace. Bruce was interested in seeing the interior, but first he and Alfred would check into the Grand Hotel.

It was a splendid hotel, full of marble pillars and royal blue damask chairs and glass coffee tables. The polished floor gleamed as wire elevators clacked up to the upper floors. It was all quiet elegance, which suited Bruce just fine.

The ballet company was checked in at the Swarthmore Hotel two blocks away. Rehearsals would start at the Bolshoi Theater tomorrow afternoon.

The suite was eminently satisfactory. Opulent and tasteful, Alfred gave it his seal of approval. The sitting room contained comfortable furniture and two bedrooms were situated off the main room.

Alfred began unpacking and Bruce helped, putting his shirts away in the massive dresser drawer. He wished that Dick was going to share in that enormous bed, but except for stealing an occasional night together, they would be separated while in Moscow.

Just as Bruce started to feel frustrated, Dick sent word via note that the company was requested to give a command performance for the Czar and Czarina tomorrow night.

& & & & & &

_As a patron of the company, you are included. Alfred can come as your manservant. Show the Czar Of All The Russias that you are true American royalty, Prince._

& & & & & &

Bruce could imagine Dick’s smile as he wrote those words. With a smile of his own, he said, “Alfred, what do you wear when you meet the Emperor of Russia?”

& & & & & &

As he handed over his homburg and greatcoat to the royal butler, Bruce was very pleased at the dashing figure he presented. After an extensive combing of his wardrobe, he and Alfred had decided on a deep-blue suit with exquisitely-cut vest and a white silk Italian-made shirt. He wore his father’s cufflinks, gold with sapphire chips and a stylized ‘W’. He carried his father’s gold pocketwatch on a matching chain with a diamond stickpin in a pale violet cravat. His shoes were polished and he wore a pin of his mother’s under his lapel: a gold leaf with a pearl setting.

Alfred was the epitome of English elegance: he wore a charcoal-gray suit with a matching waistcoat and the silver cufflinks that Bruce had given him last Christmas. Bruce was very proud of him.

The Palace’s splendor was breathtaking. Alfred whispered that not even Buckingham Palace could surpass it. Bruce had to agree, based on photographs he had seen of Queen Victoria’s palatial home.

The majordomo of the house led them down a red carpet surrounded by marble pillars, exquisite paintings and sculpture, and suits of armor. 

They were escorted to a huge ballroom with a stage at one end. A wine-red curtain was drawn across it. Red damask chairs were set up in neat rows, with the first row consisting of more comfortable chairs. Several nobles were already seated and talking amongst themselves. The orchestra tuned up as they sat against the wall close to the stage.

Bruce and Alfred were seated and ten minutes later were on their feet as the Royal Family was announced. The Czar was a tall man with a trim mustache and beard. Czarina Alexandria was a beautiful woman with a slightly haughty air. Both were splendidly attired in silks and gold braid, a magnificent sapphire necklace resting on Alexandria’s bosom. Her yellow gown was elegant in its simplicity while Nicholas’ squash-colored shirt was a perfect complement.

It was the first time that Bruce had seen royalty up close. In a crowd they could have passed for ordinary, but they undoubtedly possessed regal bearing. Two of the couple’s older daughters trailed behind them, and all four took their places in the first row’s comfortable chairs.

The grand chandeliers were dimmed and the curtain was pulled back. The ballet began.

& & & & & &

After the bravura performance, there was a reception in another grand room. The nobility mingled with the ballet company, who had changed out of their costumes. Bruce saw Dick right away as the troupe entered the room.

Dick had carefully dressed for this occasion by wearing his dark-green suit with yellow vest and red cravat. The vest and cravat were bright but the suit subdued. Once again the bohemian look was accepted due to artistic license.

Bruce watched as Dick bowed when presented to the Royal Couple. He was the epitome of charm and grace and the young Princesses giggled.

“And now may I present Mr. Bruce Wayne, one of our patrons.”

The company’s manager introduced Bruce, who stepped forward and bowed as Alfred had instructed him. Nicholas showed a spark of interest. “I have not met many Americans. I should enjoy speaking with you at dinner.” 

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” He smiled. “And may I present my manservant, Mr. Alfred Pennyworth.” 

The two sovereigns were taken aback but murmured something polite while Alfred bowed, ignoring the gasps of the nobility.

After they had moved on, Alfred murmured to Bruce, “Quite an honor, sir.”

“Yes, it was.”

They headed for the dining room. Bruce knew that Alfred would not chide him for his breach of Court etiquette by introducing him to the Royal Couple, because he was accustomed to American brashness in general and Bruce in particular.

The dining room was as grand as Bruce expected: crystal chandeliers gleaming with soft lighting and a massive oak table dominating the center of the room, covered in a rose-pink cloth and gold dinner plates, goblets and silverware. Bruce blinked at the latter items. He was accustomed to expensive china but eating off gold was even beyond the House of Wayne. 

The samovar on the sideboard was elaborate and most likely a hundred years old or more. The goblets twinkled with sapphires and rubies as cherry-red wine shimmered inside.

Bruce was immensely pleased to be seated beside Dick. Alfred discreetly asked a servant to lead him to the kitchen. Breaches of etiquette could only go so far.

Dick sparkled as he smiled, a light touch of glitter around his eyes. He was ‘on’, as he called it, but he genuinely seemed interested in the elegant surroundings. Natasha sat opposite him.

“Such a grand performance,” Nicholas said as he lifted his goblet. “To beauty and talent!”

Everyone lifted their goblets and heartily echoed the Czar’s toast. Bruce was proud of his lover.

Praise for _Swan Lake_ continued as other ballets were commented upon and then conversation branched out into other topics.

Bruce was enjoying the fish course when Count Viktor Khrushenko, seated next to Natasha, mentioned the Revolution. A handsome aristocrat with glossy dark hair, goatee, and a slender build, he smiled and said, “Russia is entering a whole new era with the calling of the Second Duma next year.”

“We shall see,” said Natasha.

“Is this Second Duma like Congress?” Bruce asked. “And I thought it was to be called after New Year’s for the first time?”

“The First Duma already met in April through June this year but the Second will be in February. As for being like your American Congress, it is more like Parliament,” Viktor answered. “It is the lower house that serves with the upper house, the Council of State.”

“That is an ambitious description,” Nicholas said.

“How would you describe it, Cousin?” Natasha asked.

“More of an advisory board.”

“Advisory? Will they advise you on improving the lives of the serfs?” 

Bruce was surprised by Natasha’s boldness, but as a relative of Nicholas, he supposed she felt safe in voicing her opinion.

_Though I wouldn’t be surprised if she did it, anyway. That girl has fire._

“They might.” Nicholas’ reply was terse.

“The inequality of the classes will cause unrest, Your Majesty.”

“Classes are the way of things, Cousin.”

“Wealth was not meant to be held by a few while the rest starve.”

“Bold words for a woman who is a member of the ruling House,” said Viktor.

Natasha scowled at him. “Being rich does not mean one cannot see the signs.”

“What signs?”

“That the proletariat will not continue to starve while we dine on Faberge eggs, so to speak.”

Bruce could feel Dick tense beside him. Nicholas was known for gifting his wife with the beautiful pieces of art.

“Such a viperous tongue for one so beautiful,” said Viktor.

“An honest tongue, Count.”

Viktor scoffed. “Honesty is overrated, my dear.”

Natasha pointed her fork at him and Bruce remembered Clint’s words about the redhead’s skill with knives. He wondered if he would have to make a lunge across the table to save Krushenko.

“Honesty is all we have, Count. Intrigue will trip us up in the end.”

Bruce was startled to hear this opinion from the ballerina. She had not been bothered by intrigue when meeting the mystery man back on her aunt’s estate.

He sipped his wine and watched her over the rim of his goblet. Could it be that Natasha was deliberately obscuring her true feelings on the matter?

Dick dropped his napkin and leaned down to retrieve it. He whispered, “Is she putting on an act?”

Bruce had told Dick what he had seen. He whispered back, “I’m not sure.”

They kept their ears open as the conversation grew more heated.

“Are you one of those Bolsheviks, young lady?” Viktor asked.

“I am a member of no party. I simply see what is to be seen.”

“Well, the Bolsheviks are rabble-rousers and would not know how to govern if they were given the keys to the kingdom wrapped up in a pretty red bow.”

“Little need to worry about that with the Czar in power,” commented a young noblewoman seated next to Viktor.

“Thank you, Duchess Maria.” Nicholas shook his head. “The twentieth century is fraught with danger, but the old ways will prevail. Civilization and the right of kings must be preserved.”

“But what about the right of the people?” Natasha asked.

“The people will endure, as always.”

“Really? I must disagree, your Majesty. The people are sturdy and will endure, but why should they suffer? They must…”

“Nicholas, darling, time for another toast!” Alexandria called from the other end of the table.

Nicholas raised his goblet and said, “To the strength of the Russian people!”

“Hear, hear, to Mother Russia!” Viktor said in a deep voice. Natasha added her voice to his with fire in her eyes.

The toasts were successful and then Nicholas turned to Bruce. “Mr. Wayne, what is Gotham City like?”

“Ah, nothing like Moscow in grandeur or age, but it has its Gothic charm. The architects were fond of gargoyles and flying buttresses.”

“Oh, my, sounds like Notre Dame.”

“Actually, I hope to see for myself soon. Paris is on my itinerary during the Grand Tour.”

“You will find the city to be quite charming. I was there for a time as a student and thoroughly enjoyed it.”

“Is Gotham a major city?” asked Viktor.

“Yes, it is. It’s a major player in the financial markets as well as a cultural center.”

“What kind of culture?” Maria asked.

“Oh, the Art Museum and the Public Library and the Mellon Art Gallery, to name a few. We have several newspapers and events like the Gotham Grand Prix.”

“And what about theater?”

Bruce cut a piece of fish. “World-class. We have a noted theater company, opera house, and ballet troupe.”

Dick perked up and listened raptly as Bruce talked about Gotham’s cultural treasures. Even Natasha listened with genuine interest.

After dinner the company took their leave and Dick walked with Bruce as Alfred walked up ahead with Clint and Natasha. Alfred and the stagehands had enjoyed a hearty meal in the kitchen.

“Natasha does sound like a Bolshevik.” Dick turned up the collar of his greatcoat as the wind blew.

“She does.” Bruce brushed his gloved hand against Dick’s. “Surprising since she is a member of the nobility.”

“Maybe not as surprising as you think.” At Bruce’s quizzical look, Dick continued, “Think about it. On the surface, you’d expect a noblewoman to support the status quo, but she’s also will-educated. His aunt insisted that she be educated beyond the usual needlepoint and other female subjects.”

“Interesting.” Bruce grinned. “I bet the Countess regrets that now.”

Dick laughed. “She might.”

Bruce looked ahead at a laughing Natasha. “I have the feeling that our beautiful ballerina may surprise us in many ways if the Bolsheviks really stir things up.”


	13. Glitter Tarnished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of holiday gaiety comes bitter reality.

  
_The glitter sparkles_  
 _While the carolers sing,_  
 _The glitter tarnished_  
 _While song turns_  
 _To cursing._

_Snow falls,_  
 _Pristine and clean,_  
 _Covering the grime_  
 _Of empty bellies_  
 _And emptier souls._  


  


**Vladimir Puschenko**  
 **"The Great Divide"**  
 **1899 C.E.**

_“Silent night/Holy night…”_

The carolers sang down on the street outside the Grand Hotel. Bruce looked down at the group, dressed in Russian fur hats and coats.

“I didn’t know that caroling was popular in Russia.”

“Natasha said it has been for awhile.” Dick was lounging in bed as Bruce stood at the window in his dressing gown. Bruce glanced back at his lover, appreciating his lithe, naked form on silk sheets. “Come back to bed, Bruce.”

“Oh, you don’t have to ask me twice.” With a grin Bruce started to remove his robe, then shrugged it back on. “Just a minute.” He reached for his coin purse on the dresser and opened the window. 

Dick pulled the covers up with a squawk of protest. “What are you doing?”

Bruce tossed some coins out the window. “Showing my appreciation.”

“Very generous.”

“Back home we’d offer hot chocolate with peppermint sticks in addition to coins.” Bruce waved to the carolers as they smiled up at him. He shut the window, a few snowflakes starring his dark hair. He removed his robe, proud of Dick’s appreciative look. He climbed into bed, his chilled skin welcoming the warm sheets and blankets.

Even better was the warm body of his lover, long limbs wrapping around him. Dick lavished kisses on his face and neck as Bruce slipped his arms around his dancer.

“Delicious,” Dick murmured.

“Aww, you flatter me.”

“I hope so.” Dick’s fingers carded through Bruce’s hair and cupped the back of his head. He nuzzled Bruce’s ear and whispered, “Love me.” 

“Always.”

Bruce rubbed against Dick, the friction pleasurable as they kissed and caressed each other with ardor. Bruce lapped at Dick’s throat, feeling his pulse throb. Dick was alive with passion, whether as a ballet dancer or a lover. His blue eyes glowed with that passion as he laughed and teased, “You need warming up, my friend.” 

“True, standing by the window chilled me.”

“Well, no one told you to open it!” Dick giggled as Bruce tickled him. “All right, all right, let’s see what I can do about that.”

Dick’s flurry of kisses warmed Bruce’s skin. He mapped Bruce’s body with an eager tongue, sending shivers of pleasure through him. Agile hands caressed and cupped his buttocks, squeezing and teasing as only Dick could.

“You’re beautiful,” Bruce whispered.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Mmm, flatterer.”

Dick rolled them over and was on top, a mischievous smile on his handsome face. He caressed Bruce’s chest and worked his way down to his companion’s stomach. He touched Bruce’s cock and grinned as it twitched.

“Don’t be a tease,” Bruce said as he thrust his hips up.

“But teasing is what I do best.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that.”

Dick snickered as he rubbed his thumb up the hard column of flesh, Bruce shivering.

& & & & & &

Dick was pleased at his lover’s reaction. He knew that the bigger man reacted well to his touch. He had learned very quickly what Bruce liked and what got the biggest reaction from him. It was a pleasurable game to play, and Dick was good at both pleasure and games.

He had missed being in Bruce’s bed. Natasha had chided him for getting too involved, citing his romantic history, which was littered with failures.

_Failures of the heart, though even ‘Tasha has to admit I mined a lot of gold out of rich admirers._

It was a lot safer to go the latter route. Aristocrats liked to dally with showgirls and ballet dancers, but love was for their own kind.

_Bruce is kind and thoughtful, but there is zero chance he wants a long-term relationship. And if he ever found out what I am…_

He ruthlessly shoved away those thoughts. They were definite mood-killers.

Instead he concentrated on bringing Bruce to orgasm. The older man was moaning and writhing beneath his expert touch, and that was just the way Dick liked it. 

He could feel the heat radiate off Bruce. The organ he held was warm and throbbing. Dick ran his thumb up-and-down the column of flesh, fascinated by how much was represented by one body part. He went down and tasted Bruce, exulting in the act. He sucked and tasted and felt his own cock harden as Bruce groaned. He dug his fingers into Bruce’s thighs as after several pleasurable minutes he felt Bruce reach the brink and spurt down his throat. His own cock spurted its seed onto Bruce’s belly. 

After a minute or two of trying to catch their breaths, Bruce observed, “You made a mess.”

Dick laughed. “I’ll clean us up.”

He was as good as his word, cleaning them both with a washcloth. He washed it out in the suite’s bathroom, glad they were not sharing one down the hall. He returned to bed and turned off the lamp, then curled up beside Bruce as the millionaire pulled up the covers as they settled in for the night.

“Do you have a rehearsal tomorrow?” Bruce put his arm around Dick.

“No, we’re so booked up that Pierre doesn’t want to overwork us.”

“Would you like to go shopping?”

“That would be great.” Dick yawned. “I have to get ‘Tasha her Christmas present.”

“Is she Russian Orthodox?”

“Probably. She’s never really said.”

“I suppose non-religious people can celebrate Christmas, too.”

“Are you non-religious?” Dick traced his finger around Bruce’s nipples.

“I’m not sure.” Bruce started up at the ceiling. “After my parents were killed, I found the notion of a loving God to be absurd.” 

“And now?”

Bruce shrugged. “I suppose I could be labeled an agnostic. I find there’s too much evil in this world to sing hosannas.” 

Dick bit his lip. Bruce rarely spoke about his parents. Clint had told him the details, having heard about what had happened when he still lived in America. Martha and Thomas Wayne had been coming home from a performance of _Die Fliedermaus_ with an eight-year-old Bruce in tow when they were accosted by a gunman demanding cash and Martha’s pearl necklace. The gunman shot and killed them. Whether they resisted or did not comply fast enough, only young Bruce knew, and he never said. 

Dick slid his arm across Bruce’s stomach. He could feel his companion’s tense muscles, which gradually relaxed as Dick gently rubbed his stomach. Bruce kissed the top of Dick’s head and they fell asleep, though not before a shadow fell across Dick’s face as his own memories crowded in. Sleep was a blessed escape.

& & & & & &

Bruce was delighted at Dick’s bright-eyed cheer as they shopped. Dick wore a stylish red velvet coat with white fur trim and a jaunty matching cap. He wore a sprig of holly on his lapel.

Dick chattered about ballet gossip and exclaimed over glittering displays in store windows. Bruce followed along in Dick’s wake, amused and happy to watch as his lover flitted here and there. He did some shopping of his own, buying a pocketwatch for Alfred and an emerald pin for Natasha. 

He already had Dick’s present bought. He had carried it with him all the way from Italy, but he wanted to get him a few smaller things, too.

He was careful not to go overboard. He had just gotten Dick back in his bed. He was not about to scare him off again.

They enjoyed a delicious lunch at a busy restaurant, commenting on people they recognized among the patrons. Dick pointed out some nobility and a few artistic types. He seemed to know everybody of importance and quite a few who were not.

“How do you know all these people?” Bruce asked as he drank some good mint tea.

“By talking with people.” Dick ate a piece of his chicken salad sandwich. “Besides, I don’t know them all, but I know _of_ them.”

“You would make a fortune in business with all these contacts.”

“I would, wouldn’t I?” Dick’s smile sparkled. “I’ll keep that in mind when my legs give out and my dancing days are over.”

“I think it’ll be a long time before that day comes.”

Dick merely smiled. When they left the restaurant, he looked around and said happily, “Oh, look, a toy shop! Let’s go inside.” He pressed his nose against the window. “Trains!”

Bruce joined Dick at the window and saw a Lionel train set on display. A shiny new engine glided along the tracks, followed by passenger cars lovingly painted and detailed.

“Dad had a train set like this,” Bruce said quietly. “He would set it up around the Christmas tree every year.” He touched the window. “After he died, I didn’t take it out again. I would guess it’s boxed up in the attic.”

Dick squeezed Bruce’s arm. “Let’s go.”

“No, you wanted to go inside.” Bruce’s smile was a little sad. “I want to go inside, too.”

Pleased, Dick led the way. A bell jingled over the door as they entered the shop.

It was a delightful shop filled with giant Nutcrackers and wooden soldiers, more trains and hoops, balls, jacks, tops, building blocks and dolls. An elaborate dollhouse occupied one corner while a chalkboard decorated with Mother Goose figures was set up next to it with colored chalk in the tray. Board games of all types were displayed next to exquisite china dolls and stitched-together Raggedy Anns and Andys. 

The elderly shopkeeper smiled. “Anything I can get you, gentlemen?”

“No, we’re just looking,” Bruce replied.

The shopkeeper nodded, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. “Just call if you need me. I’ll be in back.”

Dick smiled at a wooden rocking horse and picked up a gaily-colored ball. He balanced it and bounced it lightly before he searched further. “Hey, look at these books!”

The bookcase was filled with books that were lavishly-illustrated. There were folktales and fairytales and so many other types of stories that Dick barely knew where to start.

“These are beautiful, Bruce.”

“Hmm, yes, Russian folktales. These should prove interesting.” Bruce flipped through the bright pages. “I loved books like these as a kid. Stories of magic and derring-do.” He chuckled. “I loved the Knights of the Round Table and the Gray Ghost and Robin Hood.”

“All great choices. I have to admit, I admire Robin Hood’s sense of style.”

“I bet you’re a Douglas Fairbanks fan.”

“Guilty as charged.” Dick put the book down. “Moving pictures are really amazing. I hear that they will be of longer duration eventually.”

“I look forward to that. Hollywood should be able to come up with something.”

“Ah, yes. Hollywood sounds like a fascinating place.”

“I’d like to go there someday.”

As Dick continued his poking around, Bruce reflected on how he was interested in seeing new places again. The Grand Tour had been suggested by Alfred to pull Bruce out of his brooding and to get him away from his nights at the club where he drank and gambled too much. Now he was enjoying life again, thanks to Dick.

“See anything you like?”

Dick laughed. “Everything, but I’ll settle for a walk back to the hotel.”

“Okay, let’s go, Robin .”

Dick smirked and they left the shop. It was beginning to snow. Fine carriages rattled past them on the cobblestones and tradesmen’s wagons mixed in, swarthy men cursing at other drivers.

The snow muffled most of the sounds, but not enough to blanket shouts from a nearby alley. Bruce and Dick ran and were greeted by the sight of three shabby street toughs pummeling a ragged boy.

{ _”Filthy Gypsy!”_ }

{ _”Stinkin’ pig!”_ }

{ _”Go back to your wagon, baby-stealer!”_ }

The boy cried out as he was viciously kicked in the ribs. 

“Hey! Knock if off!” Bruce yelled.

{ _"Look, it's a fancypants!"_ } 

Bruce was only able to pick out a word here or there, but he got the gist. As the boy scrambled away, the three toughs converged on Bruce and Dick. They smiled gap-toothed smiles and flexed meaty fists. As they encircled the duo, Bruce and Dick went back-to-back.

As the first thug lunged at him, Bruce put his Harvard boxing experience to good use and jabbed him in the shoulder, quickly followed by a punch to the stomach. The thug fell to the pavement and Bruce whirled to see Dick deliver a powerful kick to his assailant. The third attacker was ready to bring his joined hands down on Dick’s head when Bruce punched him in the jaw.

The toughs fought back and Bruce let out a whuff of air as a punch connected with his stomach, but he shook it off and went on the offensive again. He knocked the man out and saw Dick slam his attacker into the peeling brick wall.

“You okay?” Bruce gasped as he staggered over to Dick, holding his stomach.

“Yeah. How about you?”

“Just the wind knocked out of me.”

They went over to the boy, whose dark hair tumbled into his brown eyes. The light from the streetlamp glinted off a tiny gold ring in his ear. 

“Are you all right, kid?” Bruce asked.

The boy chattered in a language he could not understand. The child flinched as Bruce reached for him and darted away, babbling in that incomprehensible tongue.

“Let him go,” Dick said.

Bruce looked him in confusion. He followed Dick out of the alley as the boy disappeared into the swirling snow.

“We’d better stop at the police station and report this.”

“Don’t bother.” Dick picked up the shopping bags they had dropped and began walking toward the hotel.

Bruce scrambled to catch up with Dick’s powerful strides and took one of the bags. He remained silent until they were up in his suite, but then he broke his silence.

“What happened back there?”

Dick had taken off his hat, coat and boots and tossed his gloves onto a chair. He began emptying the shopping bags. “A poor street urchin was unlucky enough to run into three thugs. End of story.”

Bruce was shocked. “All the more reason to help him.”

“We did.”

“But shouldn’t we notify the police?”

Dick opened a dresser drawer and placed his gifts inside. “Trust me, they would have taken the information and tossed it. I don’t know what American big cities are like, but here in Europe the police only care about the upper classes. The poor fend for themselves.”

Bruce was about to object but closed his mouth. He thought about the Gotham Police Department and its similar attitudes. One of these days he would have to put his family name behind a progressive clean-up. He would have to find the right man for the job.

“I should go back to my hotel.” Dick put his hands on his hips as he stared down at the drawer. 

“Why bother? You brought some stuff over here already.”

“Yes, and I hadn’t meant to bring quite so much or certain things,” Dick muttered as he poked a small black box shoved into a corner of the drawer.

“Don’t worry, I won’t snoop, especially at Christmastime.” Bruce assured him jovially.

Dick snorted as he shut the drawer. “Gentleman’s honor?”

“Why not?” 

Dick shook his head fondly. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re _always_ hungry.”

“Hey, I’m a growing boy.”

 _“Boy_ you’re not.”

They exited the suite to go down to the dining room, Bruce asking Dick where he got the fighting moves.

“Oh, you learn things knocking about Europe. What about you? You had some fancy moves.”

Bruce flexed his hands and feinted. “Harvard Boxing Champ, ’03 and ’04.”

“You should enter the Olympics. Your countrymen have done well so far.”

“As long as you’re in the Games, too, and we do it the Greek way.”

“The Greek way?” For a moment, Dick was puzzled, then the light dawned and he smirked. “You’re quite evil, Mr. Wayne.”

They both laughed as they entered the wire elevator and it clacked downstairs.


	14. Pure, Sweet Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Christmas Eve, Dick and Bruce exchange special presents.

  
_Hear the nightingale sing,_   
_Delicate yet strong thing._   
_Watch as his feathery wings_   
_Flutter,_   
_With abandon so gay,_   
_Listen to his song_   
_On this special day._

  


**Beatrice Blankenship**   
**"Birdsong"**   
**1901 C.E.**

The holiday season was always more glittery and gay, with sprigs of holly and Christmas trees shining and people smiling, and a general feeling of goodwill in the air. When Bruce attended the ballet, the audience was a sea of red and green and all was well with the world. He knew that the latter was not true but he was willing to indulge in the spirit of the season, especially since Dick was in his life. The man was made for Christmas.

And tonight was Christmas Eve. If they were at the Manor, he would have waited to give Dick his present until morning, but he was restless. It just felt right to do it tonight. Of course, if Dick had to schmooze with patrons after the ballet, he would wait until morning.

There seemed to be special glitter on-stage, or maybe it was just his imagination. Every dancer seemed at their best tonight. Every turn, spin or leap seemed to sparkle and every smile brighter, and no one shone more brilliantly than Dick Grayson. He was strong and beautiful and sparkling, and Bruce knew that he was head-over-heels in love with him.

_Someone hurt you badly. I’ll have to continue to go slow, but someday I will come out and let you know how I feel._

Applause thundered for the inspired performance, and Bruce joined in. The curtain lowered but lifted again as the cast held hands and bowed. They took several bows before the curtain came down for good, bouquets of flowers thrown at their slippered feet. 

Backstage, Clint waved at him from the catwalk and he waved back on his way to Dick’s dressing room. He knocked on the door and Dick called out, “Come in!”

Inside was controlled chaos with costumes and accessories strewn everywhere, but it was what Dick called ‘happy clutter’. When he had first said it Bruce and Natasha had exchanged eye-rolls while Dick had laughed.

“So do you have to stroke the patrons’ egos tonight?”

“Nah, I get the night off. ‘Sides, I’d rather stroke something other than your ego.”

“Naughty boy.”

“I hope so.”

“And on such a holy night, too.”

Dick smirked. He tossed aside a yellow feather boa and found a red silk shirt. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“Okay, meet you in the hall.”

Bruce relaxed as he leaned against the wall, watching suitors come to find their paramours. Stagehands bustled to finish their tasks. They would have the day off tomorrow and they wanted nothing left undone.

Natasha emerged from her dressing room. “Ah, the stage door Johnny.”

Bruce laughed. “Merry Christmas, Natasha.”

“Merry Christmas, Bruce.” She took out a cigarette from her silver case. “Do you have plans?”

“Dick and I plan to have a late supper and a quiet evening back at the hotel.”

“Very sweet.” Natasha accepted the light that Bruce offered. She blew out a ring of smoke and he admired the attractive figure she cut in her green silk gown. “What about your plans?” 

“Clint and I are going to a late supper at _Dosteovsky’s.”_

“Sounds nice.”

She shrugged. “It is better than midnight service. It is endless on Christmas Eve.” 

Brice remembered long services, too. He checked his pocketwatch. “What’s the next stop on your itinerary for the company?”

“Who knows? That will be up to Antonio.”

“Well, he’s a good manager.”

“I agree.” She laughed. “I doubt we will end up in Budapest.”

“I hope not.” Clint appeared in what was probably his best suit. The material was inexpensive but it fit him well. The dark-green vest was a good match for the charcoal-gray suit. He even carried a pair of kid gloves with an evening cloak.

“Hey, Budapest was not bad.”

“You and I remember Budapest very differently.”

“Well, at any rate, it is doubtful that Antonio will book us there.”

“Thank God. C’mon, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“Of course, _dahlink._ See you soon, Bruce.” Natasha took Clint’s arm and sashayed down the hall.

Bruce’s grin grew brighter as Dick emerged from his dressing room in his red velvet outfit. The sprig of holly was still in his lapel. They walked the short distance to the Grand Hotel as snow gently fell. It was all very picturesque. The outfit was the one Dick had worn on the day they had saved the boy in the alley. They had never spoken of that incident since that day.

At the hotel, they went into the dining room. It had been closed at its usual time but Bruce had arranged for a special accommodation. He had offered special pay for the staff willing to cook for and serve them. They dined on caviar, fish and baby potatoes with sparkling champagne and Black Forest cake for dessert. 

After dessert, they went up to Bruce’s suite. Alfred had managed to procure a tree and decorations and there were gaily-wrapped presents under the tree.

“Would you like to open one present tonight?” Bruce asked.

“Sure.”

“Okay.” Bruce bent down and picked up a box wrapped in gold paper and a green bow.

“Here, yours first,” Dick said as he handed Bruce a flat, square box. The paper was silver with a blue bow.

Bruce opened it and smiled. _“Russian Folktales.”_

“I knew that you took a fancy to it in the toy shop. Mr. Volchek is very nice.”

“Is he the shopkeeper?”

Dick nodded. “He and I talked very pleasantly. What a wonderful occupation, dealing in toys.”

With a smile, Bruce ran his hand down the cover showing a boy and a wolf in snowy woods. The illustration was beautifully detailed. “Thank you.”

Dick’s grin widened as Bruce handed him his present. He eagerly unwrapped it and carefully opened the box.

“Bruce!” Dick lifted the object out.

It was a music box in the form of a caged nightingale. The delicate bird was made of gold and studded with jewels. Rubies, topazes, emeralds and sapphires sparkled as Bruce wound the key at the base of the box and the nightingale sang a pure, sweet song.

“It’s beautiful, Bruce,” Dick said in awe.

“He reminds me of you.”

“But I don’t sing, except in the shower.” 

“Yes, and you do some of your best singing there.”

Dick smirked as he carefully set the music box on the dresser. “Bruce, this is exquisite, but it’s too…”

“…extravagant?” At Dick’s nod, Bruce asked, “What good is money if you can’t make the people you care about happy?” 

Dick lightly traced the wires of the birdcage. “Beautiful, just beautiful.”

“I agree.” Bruce walked up behind Dick, nuzzling his neck while putting his arms around his waist.

Dick smiled. He turned around and copied Bruce by putting his arms around his lover. They kissed and made their way to the bed, flopping down. Bruce was on top of Dick, continuing to kiss and caress. Dick arched up as Bruce licked his companion’s long, graceful neck. Moonlight shone in through the windows as church bells began to peal.

& & & & & &

_Curses rang through the smoke-filled air as flames crackled. Screams mixed with the unrelenting curses as mocking laughter trapped them all as surely as the flames. He could feel the smoke filling his lungs and tried to cry out, his voice rasping and weak. Horses whinnied in fear as they broke away and ran in sheer panic. He was falling to the hard ground as the laughter swirled around him…_

& & & & & &

Dick sat up abruptly, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. He looked down at Bruce beside him, who stirred slightly but did not awaken. Dick carefully got out of bed and by the light of the moon, went to the dresser. He paused in the act of opening his drawer as the music box tinkled. Breathing a sight of relief when it stopped, he finished pulling out the drawer.

Reaching into the corner of the drawer, he took out a small black box and opened it. Inside, a small gold earring glittered in the moonlight before he closed the lid and put the box back, closing the drawer.

Dick climbed back into bed and shivered until he curled up against Bruce and finally fell asleep.


	15. The City Of Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Dick go sightseeing in Paris.

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**Part Three**

**Springtime In Paris**

**XV**

**The City Of Lights**

**April 1, 1907**

  
_My heart soars_  
 _High above the City_  
 _Of Lights,_  
 _Because anything_  
 _Is possible_  
 _In Paris_  
 _In the spring._

  


**Pierre Le Roy**  
 **"The City Of Lights"**  
 **1888 C.E.**

Paris was the best place to be in Europe during springtime. After a long Russian winter, Bruce and Dick were happy to walk freely again without all kinds of outerwear. Just a good tailored suit with hat and kid gloves was all that was necessary, and regular buttoned shoes instead of boots. Alfred was pleased as well.

The _Ballet Magnifique_ had branched out from _Swan Lake._ They offered that production but also _Sleeping Beauty_ and _The Manzeppa,_ made famous by Adah Menken a generation ago in non-ballet form. Natasha relished the role made famous by the theatrical beauty.

When Bruce arrived at the theater, he saw a bevy of controlled chaos. Stagehands were busy setting up and dancers were practicing exercises in a small room with bars running along the walls and mirrors placed so that they could watch their form. The orchestra was practicing out in the pit by the stage. He was heading toward the practice room when he was hailed by Clint.

“Hi, Mr. Wayne!”

“Hi, Clint.” Bruce looked curiously at the man beside the stagehand.

“This is Haclav Vlasic. He just signed on with us. Knocked about Romania and Austria-Hungary for awhile and then here before we got to town.”

The small man sported a bushy mustache and looked too thin to haul around heavy scenery, but Bruce figured that he was the wiry type.

“Glad to meet you, sir.” His voice sounded like he had smoked too many cigarettes.

“Same here, Haclav. Say, Clint, have you seen Natasha or Dick?”

“Nat’s in the practice room. I don’t know where Dick is. C’mon, Haclav, let’s get the castle scenery up.”

“Right.”

Bruce decided to check Dick’s dressing room first, but the room was empty except for the star’s costumes. Bruce smiled fondly as he touched a gold lame outfit and threw the yellow feather boa jauntily over the clothes rack pipe. Whistling merrily, he left the dressing room.

He found himself enjoying the chaos. Paris was a city of possibilities, according to Alfred, and he was inclined to agree with him. Perhaps Paris was the place to finally declare himself, come what may. He could stay in Europe as long as he wanted, but he missed Gotham. He needed time to tell Dick that he loved him and work on the younger man and get him to reciprocate. He needed time to persuade Dick to come home to Gotham with him. He _needed_ Dick Grayson in his life.

Natasha emerged from the practice room in a pink leotard. Bruce was appreciative of the view.

“Good morning, Natasha. Have you seen Dick?”

“No, but I am sure he is around.” She wiped her face with the end of the towel slung around her neck. “How are you enjoying the _Hotel des Jardins?”_

“Very much so. The French know how to live.”

“They certainly do.” She smiled. “Paris has some of the best restaurants in Europe. Will you be wining and dining Dick?”

Bruce laughed. “Of course.”

“Your French is quite polished for an American.”

“Thank you, _Mademoiselle.”_

She smirked. “At least you will be able to read the menus.”

“I was picking up quite a bit of Russian,” Bruce pouted.

“But not enough to avoid certain culinary disasters.”

“Hey, so eel is not my favorite.”

Natasha laughed.

“Pardon me, Miss Romanoff.”

“Oh, hello, Haclav.”

The little man looked nervous. He stuttered, “Mr. Freneau wants to see you.”

“All right.” She whipped her towel in a grand gesture. “Must not keep our director waiting.”

Haclav hurried back to work as Bruce continued to search for Dick. He finally found him after opening the backstage door, reading a book on the small ramp.

“What’s up, Dick?”

“Oh, just taking in some air.”

“Reading, I see.” Bruce looked at the cover. “Poetry. Ellison?”

“Yes. In some ways, as original as Whitman.”

“I agree.” Bruce took the book from his companion and read the open page. _“’My body is longing/For your touch/As my heart aches/For your love’.”_ Bruce looked into Dick’s eyes. “Does your heart ache, Dick?”

Dick looked at him with an expression that Bruce could not quite fathom. He could usually read Dick but was frustrated this time.

The stage door opened. “Whoops, sorry, fellas. Didn’t know anyone was out here,” Clint said.

“Not a problem, Clint. I have to get back, anyway,” said Dick. He took his book back and went inside.

Bruce glared at Clint. “You have _such_ excellent timing, Barton.”

Clint chuckled. “Sorry, Bruce.” During the long Russian winter, Bruce had gotten closer to Clint and asked him to use his first name when no one else was around. 

Bruce huffed and went inside to the sound of more chuckling.

& & & & & &

Paris was a center of the arts, the glittering capital of Europe, rivaled only by London, Vienna and Rome. Poets sang its praises and great artists lived on the Left Bank as they wrote, painted and sculpted. Traditional art still reigned supreme, but modern movements were making themselves known. Pablo Picasso was outraging art critics while exciting others.

Dick wanted to experience some of Paris’ bohemian lifestyle. While at lunch with Bruce and Alfred at a sidewalk café the next day, he said, “I’d like to visit the Left Bank and see what’s going on.” 

“It could be interesting,” Bruce admitted.

“Will you also be seeing the usual sights?” Alfred inquired.

“Oh, yes,” Dick assured him. “I want to see Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower and the _Arc de Triomphe.”_

“You must see Versailles, too.”

“Definitely.” Dick sipped his _demitasse._ “Just breathe that fresh air! Listen to those birds sing! Isn’t this a beautiful day?”

“Beautiful.” Bruce agreed as he gazed at Dick.

“We should plan a whole day of sightseeing tomorrow.”

“Don’t you have rehearsal?”

“No, Pierre hates over-rehearsed dancers. He’ll work us hard the day after tomorrow because we open that night but I’m free as a bird all day tomorrow.”

“As free as a nightingale.”

Dick smirked. “Rest up, buddy, because we’ve got a busy day tomorrow!”

& & & & & &

Bruce had to admit that Notre Dame was nearly overwhelmingly impressive in person. Alfred quietly read from the guidebook as they gazed up at the towering cathedral.

“Construction began in 1163 and was open to the public in 1345. Its height is 96 meters, 315 feet to the Anglo-Americans. The architecture is French Gothic.”

“Reminds me of home,” Bruce said.

“Hmm, home must be interesting,” Dick observed.

“Oh, it is. I’d love to give you a guided tour.” 

Dick smiled and patted Bruce’s arm. “A most generous offer.”

They fell silent as they entered the cathedral, the peaceful stillness settling over them like a gentle blanket. The stained-glass windows were stunning and the statues exquisite. People spoke in hushed tones as they commented on the interior.

“Imagine working on this for hundreds of years,” Dick murmured.

“It required dedication for generations, all right,” Bruce agreed.

“Such artistry,” Alfred said.

They spent the morning walking through the magnificent cathedral, exploring every nook and cranny. Bruce appreciated the artistry on an aesthetic level. He was glad that he had come to see it.

It was easy to see why people would have holy experiences here. The sweeping grandeur of the nave and side chapels along with exquisitely-carved statues created an atmosphere that the faithful could indulge in. He liked the stained-glass windows the best. He could imagine monks and nuns down through the centuries tending the votive candles and offering up prayers, and the faithful saying their rosaries and muttering in Latin. It was all quite different from most religions back in America, though Episcopalians had some of the same mystical practices. The flames of the votive candles danced along the wall as churchgoers kneeled in the pews with clasped hands and rosaries.

When they emerged from the cathedral, Alfred said, “I read that there are restaurants on the lower levels of the Eiffel Tower. I suggest you gentlemen dine there for luncheon.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “And where will you be?”

“I have a previous engagement, sir. I shall see you this evening.” Alfred put on his bowler hat and went off, looking dapper in his suit and using a decorative cane. 

“And what might his ‘engagement’ be?” Dick asked in amusement.

“Could he be found a pub that caters to English expatriates, or he met a Frenchwoman and is meeting her for luncheon.”

“Such a romantic!”

“And maybe he just wanted to give us some time alone as lovers in Paris.” Bruce took Dick’s hand and squeezed it.

Dick’s smile was soft as he gazed at Bruce. “Let’s go see the Eiffel Tower.”

Bruce engaged a carriage and they arrived at the Eiffel Tower, impressed by the structure. As Alfred said, there were restaurants on the first two levels. They decided to take the tour first.

The French guide polled the little group that had assembled and discovered that Americans and Englishmen were the majority. “Would you mind if I practiced my English?”

“Not at all,” said a rotund gentleman in a brown suit with a British accent.

“Thank you.” The elderly guide wore a uniform that closely resembled that of the French military. His gray mustache was neatly trimmed and his brown eyes were warm and engaging. “The Eiffel Tower was built in 1889 for the _Exposition Universalle._ It is 324 meters tall; 1,063 feet to you Brits and Yanks. It surpassed the Washington Monument as the tallest man-made structure in the world.”

The guide led the group up to the first level. “It is 300 feet from the ground to the first level, ladies and gentlemen.” Murmurs of awe greeted this information, and some people warily looked down over the railing. “As you can see, even at this lower level, we can see Paris in all its glory.” 

Bruce liked the view. He had no fear of heights. As he saw Dick lean over the railing, it was obvious that heights did not bother him, either. The guide cautioned people to pull back but he said it in a jocular way so that it would not sound like chastisement. Bruce thought it very clever of the man.

A gust of wind nearly blew off a matron’s hat. The enormous feather waved wildly as the woman kept a firm grip on her hat. The guide urged them forward to the staircase.

Many steps later they paused on the second level to catch their breaths. The rotund gentleman brought up the rear, puffing as he reached the top step.

Bruce bent over the railing. “And here I thought I was in shape.”

Dick laughed. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m in tip-top shape and need to catch my breath.”

Bruce smiled. “Yes, it does.”

Dick’s eyes twinkled.

The guide gave them all time to rest. Bruce sniffed the air. “Mmm, something smells good.”

“Smells like roast chicken.” Dick leaned on the railing. “We should eat at that restaurant after the tour.”

“Look at the writings on the walls,” said the woman with the feathered hat that had nearly blown away.

“You can write your impressions and they will be put up on the wall,” said the guide. “And over there are the offices of _Le Figaro.”_

The group went over to the office and saw the printing press. A small staff was busy writing and printing special editions of the newspaper, _Le Figaro la Tour._

There was a charming _patisserie_ next to _Le Figaro,_ and Bruce promised Dick a pastry after lunch.

Once everyone was ready, the guide brought them to the staircase to the third level. “There are 1,710 steps to the top.” He laughed as someone groaned.

“Do we have to climb every step, Mr. Marnier?” complained an elderly man.

Henri Marnier laughed again. “Do not worry, _Monsieur._ We will take our time. I have no wish to lose anyone.”

“That guy must be fit as a fiddle,” Dick puffed. “Now I know why Alfred took a powder.”

Bruce chuckled. “Alfred’s no dummy.”

Finally everyone was on the third level and the guide spoke. “Now,” said Henri, “we are 276 meters, uh, 906 feet up. The view is outstanding.” The group agreed, marveling at the city laid out below them. “The Tower is lit at night by gaslights and beacons, though there is talk of electric lights in the future.”

The group spent a leisurely hour on the third level. Landmarks were pointed out as people walked around the observation deck. 

“Look, Notre Dame,” Dick said as he pointed.

“Yes, and isn’t that the _Arc de Triomphe_ over that way?”

Gradually members of the group began to trickle down to the next level for lunch or left the Tower. Bruce and Dick leaned on the railing together, the wind whipping their hair. A bluebird rode the air currents and flapped its wings as it flew by.

“Imagine flying. What a thrill it must be,” said Dick, eyes shining as he followed the bird’s flight.

“Well, remember, I’m thinking of investing in the Wright Brothers’ project.”

“Wouldn’t that be grand? They’d probably let you go on a flight.”

“Maybe. Right now only one person can go up at a time. And I have no intention of hanging off the wing to hitch a ride.”

Dick laughed. “You’re very athletic. I’m sure that you could pull it off, _mon cher.”_

Bruce was warmed by the endearment. He looked around and saw that they were alone. He drew Dick into a gentle kiss, which Dick returned as the city of Paris lay gloriously beneath them.


	16. Enigmatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends pop up in Paris.

_"True art endures down through the centuries."_

**Pierre Gilbert**   
**French Art Critic**   
**1899 C.E.**

Springtime in Paris was just as the poets described it. Bruce and Dick were happy as apple blossoms bloomed in the countryside and April turned to May. They visited a local farm and watched cheese being made, and Bruce bought a small wheel to bring back to the city. Alfred was delighted with the quality and served slices of it with French bread at teatime every day.

Dick was working very hard as choreographer and director Pierre Freneau was insistent on perfection now that they were performing in front of live audiences. Paris could make or break their little company as the most famous critics resided here. When an artist wanted to show his work, he held an exhibition here, and when a ballet company wanted to become famous, they toured here.

During this intense period Dick was too busy or too tired for sightseeing. He stayed at the hotel with the rest of the dancers most nights, though he sneaked away to tumble exhaustedly into Bruce’s arms in his suite on occasion.

As for Bruce, he wanted to sightsee with Dick but when his lover was too busy, he decided to take in a few sights and return with Dick when he had the time. Alfred was a most enjoyable companion, and they decided on a trip to the _Louvre_ one morning.

It was a magnificent building that looked the part of a museum, very imposing and cultural, Bruce supposed. He was interested in seeing the fine treasures within, his parents long ago teaching him the beauty of art.

The _Venus de Milo_ was exquisite. The loss of her arms did nothing to detract from her beauty or the skill of the ancient artist.

The next piece he felt very impressed with was the Winged Victory of Samothrace. Its grandeur and sweep of the wings made Bruce think of his conversation about flying with Dick up in the Eiffel Tower. 

He took his time studying the statue. “Alfred, wasn’t this statue found during an archeological expedition?”

Alfred consulted the museum guidebook. “Yes, it was found in 1863 during an Aegean Sea expedition. The statue has been exhibited here since 1884.”

“That must be exciting, to be part of an archeological dig.”

“It is very particular work.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be getting my hands dirty for work like that.”

“Ha, I’d say you would sit around and watch the workers sweat in the sun while you flashed your cash as backer.”

Bruce turned at the sound of the new voice with a big grin on his face. “Ollie ! Dinah!”

The two Americans laughed and hurried forward for Ollie to vigorously shake hands with Bruce and for Dinah to hug him. The two repeated their greetings with Alfred, and Bruce pounded Ollie’s shoulder.

“When did you two arrive in Paris?” he asked.

“Late yesterday. We arrived at _Le Havre_ and traveled to Paris this morning,” Ollie replied.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were coming?”

“We didn’t know ourselves until the last minute. Got to rest the Pretty Bird’s vocal cords for awhile.”

“Nothing wrong, I hope?” Bruce asked in concern as he looked at Dinah.

She smiled and gently touched the yellow scarf around her neck. “Just something all sopranos go through occasionally.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “I’m wearing this brunette wig so that I can travel incognito.”

“A fine idea, Miss Dinah,” Alfred approved.

Both newcomers were dressed as typical American rich folks on their Grand Tour, as most people of Bruce and Ollie’s class undertook as a matter of course. 

“So, what have you been up to?” Dinah asked.

“Oh, just sightseeing.” Bruce saw the sparkle in Dinah’s eyes. “All right, what have you heard?”

“That you’ve been attending quite a few performances of a particular ballet company.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “What little bird told you?”

“A lovely lady by the name of Harriet Cooper. She heard it from a cousin of hers who’s on the Grand Tour.”

“Can’t get away with anything in this world.” Bruce shook his head.

“Not likely, old man.” Ollie winked. “Are you enamored of a certain ballerina?”

“Or a certain ballet dancer?” Dinah asked.

Bruce felt no anxiety at the latter question. Dinah and Ollie knew about his tastes, and Ollie had similar proclivities himself. They’d enjoyed a passionate romance at Harvard but Bruce had no desire to settle down and Ollie had met Dinah, falling head-over-heels for her.

“I can introduce you to both.”

“Splendid. Now, shall we move on to the _Mona Lisa?”_ Ollie asked.

The enigmatic painting drew in viewers as a small crowd was gathered behind the velvet rope.

“So much mystery surrounding her,” Dinah said.

“She’s marvelous,” Bruce said.

“I agree.” Alfred painting. “That smile has generated much commentary through the centuries.”

“Certainly different from Cubism,” Ollie smirked.

“What an odd movement,” Dinah commented. “Though Picasso is a star in the art world. He lives here in Paris.”

“We might see him in a café or on the Left Bank.” Bruce was intrigued by the thought. “I’m not a big fan of Cubism, but the movement is interesting.”

“What’s more your taste, Bruce?” Dinah asked.

“Monet. I like the Impressionists.”

“That’s good taste.”

“Impressionism is intriguing. Up close the brushstrokes are colorful and seemingly random, but from a distance they form a shimmering, beautiful picture.”

“Very poetic,” said Dinah with a knowing smile. 

“Let’s go find the Impressionists,” Bruce said.

& & & & & &

That evening was a special sparkle as Bruce escorted his friends to the ballet. Alfred came along, too, and everyone wore their finest as they mingled with the Parisian elite. They went up to Bruce’s private box and enjoyed champagne and cherry chocolates.

“You were always first-class,” Dina approved.

“Thanks, I definitely like to keep up with things.”

“You seem to be enjoying life more, Hamlet.”

“Hamlet?”

“Yes, the brooding Prince.” Dinah laughed at Bruce’s eye-roll.

“You’re rather sassy for a Canary.”

She just laughed again, taking another chocolate from the plate.

The orchestra performed the overture as the lights dimmed. The curtain rose, and they were transported to a world of beauty and fantasy as Sleeping Beauty’s tale was danced for them.

Bruce noticed the rapt attention of his friends, especially when Natasha and Dick appeared. When the curtain went down after Act I, Dinah said, “Well, now I know why you’ve been hanging around this company, Bruce, dear.”

“Exquisite,” Ollie added.

“You’ll get a chance to meet the lovely creature backstage.” Bruce casually sipped his champagne but was excited at the thought of his friends meeting Dick. 

“I would expect no less.” Dinah waved her hand airily. “Ollie, my dear, would you get me a lemon ice?”

Ollie stood and bowed. “Of course, my Queen.”

She hit him on the arm as he laughed. After he had departed with Alfred, she looked at Bruce as he poured a fresh amount of champagne into her glass, setting the magnum back into the silver ice bucket.

“It’s Mr. Grayson, isn’t it?”

“Is that some sort of Canary intuition?"

“Woman’s intuition.”

“Oh, dear, then I’m in trouble.”

“You’d be correct, darling.” Dinah sipped the cold champagne. “He’s amazingly talented and gorgeous to boot.”

Bruce looked at his old friend, dressed in shimmering midnight-blue, a matching silk wrap draped over the back of her pink velvet chair. Diamonds sparkled at her throat and ears with a bracelet on her right wrist. Ollie had chosen well.

“I knew Ollie was doing the best thing in his life when he married you.”

“You were an excellent best man. Pity we can’t return the favor.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Even if such marriages were permitted, who says I would want to get married?”

Dinah crossed her legs and gently swung one foot back-and-forth. It was a provocative pose for a lady despite the voluminous skirt.

“Just seeing how things go?”

“Pretty much.” Bruce leaned casually against the box railing. His pride would not allow him to tell her that Dick was the one who seemed uncertain about the romance. “It’s better this way.”

“Do what you have to, Bruce.” Dinah cocked her head. “I suppose he’s worth it?”

“He is.”

_I **must** have him. Life just wouldn’t be the same without Dick._

Bruce poured himself another glass of champagne. He was confident of his ability to win Dick over. He would overcome all obstacles, whether through persuasion, money, or whatever means at his disposal. 

Ollie returned with a tray of ices. “Lemon for you, my dear, lime for me, and cherry for Bruce.” Alfred was already eating his strawberry ice.

“Thank you, Ollie.” Bruce took the cup, pleased at the coldness sliding down his suddenly dry throat.

& & & & & &

After the curtain call, Bruce led his party backstage. Clint and Haclav were wrangling ropes on the catwalk out over the stage as Bruce walked with sure strides toward Dick’s dressing room. He knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

“I hope you’re decent,” Bruce joked as he poked his head in.

“Never,” Dick said breezily as he glittered in his sequined dressing gown. It was canary-yellow and red satin slippers were on his feet. He still had his make-up on. His smile faltered slightly as he saw Dinah and Ollie over Bruce’s shoulder.

“May I introduce my old friends, Oliver and Dinah Queen?”

“Lovely name,” Dick said as he happily accepted the bouquet of red roses that Dinah held out to him.

“Your performance was even more exquisite,” Ollie said.

“Thank you, Mr. Queen.” Dick bowed.

“Ollie, please.”

“All right, Ollie.”

“And Dinah for me.”

Dick looked at her as he bowed again. He seemed slightly puzzled. Suddenly, recognition dawned in his eyes.

“I’ve seen pictures of you. You’re the Golden Canary!”

“Also known as the Blond Canary.” Dinah laughed. “I’m traveling incognito, dear.”

“I’ve always wanted to hear you sing.”

“Alas, my voice is on enforced rest,” Dinah said as she laid a hand on her silk-clad throat. “But once I’m singing again, I’ll send you an invitation.”

“That would be grand, Dinah.” Dick handed over the roses to Alfred, who went in search of water as he picked up a vase off Dick’s dressing table. “Your Canary Cry is said to be the highest note ever recorded.” 

“And sometimes a terrible strain,” Ollie said as he put an arm around his wife’s shoulders.

They left Dick to dress and while waiting outside in the hall, Clint and Haclav walked by. Bruce made introductions and Dinah admired Clint’s muscles as Ollie covertly took a look, too. As the two stagehands went to their next task, Dinah said, “Quite a specimen, that Mr. Barton.”

“That he is,” Bruce agreed.

“I don’t like that Vlasic fellow.”

“Oh?”

“There’s something weaselly about him.” She wrinkled her nose. 

Bruce laughed. “Women’s intuition again?”

She smiled enigmatically.

& & & & & &

The late supper at _La Maison_ was a sparkling success. Dick charmed the Queens as they ate oysters, prime _filet mignon_ with Hollandaise sauce, asparagus with country butter, and raspberry popovers.

“And Bruce knocked that Yalie popinjay right on his, um, behind,” said Ollie.

“He thought that he could wrest the boxing title from me,” Bruce sniffed.

“Bruce was a dynamo,” Dinah said, cutting a piece of sirloin.

“What do you mean, _was?”_

Dick laughed. “Continue, Ollie. I want to hear more war stories.”

“War stories? Old college tales?” Bruce waved his hand dismissively. “Not very exciting.”

“You must have a slew of embarrassing stories to tell if he’s trying to derail you.”

“Ha, you know him well, Dick.” Ollie winked and began another story.

& & & & & &

After supper, they took a carriage to the hotel. Ollie and Dinah were staying at the _Hotel des Jardins,_ too. Dick squeezed Bruce’s hand.

“I have an early rehearsal tomorrow but I’ll meet you at the _Louvre_ around 10:30.”

“Okay, see you then.” Bruce watched as the carriage driver drove away and Dick waved. He waved back.

Ollie went inside to talk with the desk clerk and Dinah smiled at Bruce. “He’s amazing.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t let this one get away.” She went into the hotel with a swish of skirts.

“Don’t worry, I don’t intend to,” Bruce said quietly into the darkness.


	17. Like The Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick’s past finally catches up with him.

  
_He runs_   
_Through fields_   
_And across streams._

_He runs_   
_Through_   
_Blood-spattered_   
_Dreams._

_He runs_   
_And never looks back,_   
_Like the wind_   
_Skipping over_   
_The endless abyss_   
_So black._

  


**Everett Sloan**   
**"Like The Wind"**   
**1871 C.E.**

_The faces were leering, hateful, and mocking. There were big men and thin men as they screamed their insults. Flames highlighted their faces and screams of terror filled the smoky air. He coughed, his eyes watering._

_“Stinkin’ filth!”_

_His throat was raw as he screamed, red-and-gold wagons being consumed by fire as a gold tassel burst into flame, reduced to a blackened string in seconds. It was hell on earth ._

& & & & & &

Dick bolted upright in bed with a cry, his heart pounding and his entire body shaking. He wiped his sweat-sheened face with a shaking hand.

_Glad I stayed at my hotel tonight and not with Bruce._

He lay back against the headboard, trying to calm his racing heart. Tears trickled down his face and he slid down, curling up in a fetal position as he pulled up the covers, shivering until he fell asleep.

& & & & & &

Dick joined Bruce and his friends at the _Louvre._ They revisited the art they had seen for Dick’s sake, and new pieces they had not seen yesterday. He loved the _Venus de Milo_ and the Winged Victory of Samothrace, admiring the graceful curves and lines of the ancient statuary. Bruce’s eyes were on him but that only made Dick preen more.

The _Mona Lisa_ was the grand _piece de resistance._ Dick was immediately attracted to her enigmatic smile. He studied the painting and gradually realized that the others had drifted off, giving him extra time.

He appreciated that. He was still a little jittery after last night. He had seen the worry in Bruce’s eyes and the glances between Dinah and Ollie as he had deliberately babbled, trying to ward off depression. Alfred was implacable but Dick could see the concern in his eyes, too. Maybe a few minutes alone would allow him to center himself, as one of his fellow ballet dancers liked to say.

Ten minutes later Dinah approached him. “The boys are in the other wing. Come on, darling.”

“Are you my escort?”

“Oh, yes.”

“An utterly charming one.”

Dinah’s eyes sparkled. “A silver tongue.”

“Says the lady with the golden vocal cords.”

Dinah took his arm. “You’re good for Bruce.”

“Am I? He’s a fine patron of our little company.”

“He’s more than that.” At his hesitant expression she smiled gently. “Ollie and I know about his preferences.”

“Oh.” Dick blushed slightly. “He’s a fine man.”

“That he is.” They began walking to the next gallery. “He’s been an unhappy man.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “He was traumatized by watching his parents killed right in front of him. I can’t imagine how that changes a child.”

“No.” Dick’s voice was flat.

“He’s had a lot of rage about that night. For awhile he drank and gambled excessively in an effort to drown that pain.” She squeezed his arm. “You bring joy to his life.”

Dick smiled. “I’m glad I can help.”

“More than you know, darling.”

& & & & & &

The view from the restaurant in the Eiffel Tower was breathtaking, Dinah declared. The men agreed with her as they ate a light lunch of sandwiches and fruit. A light breeze blew, for which Dinah was grateful. A hearty gust would have blown off her large, dark-blue hat with the sweeping yellow feather.

“Do you have any plans for the afternoon?” Ollie asked as he set down his teacup into its saucer.

“What about going over to the Left Bank?” asked Dick.

“That’s a splendid idea!” said Ollie.

Dinah saw Bruce and Alfred’s amusement. Dick must have expressed a desire to go to the famous neighborhood before this.

“Great idea, Dick. Let’s go.” Dinah finished her tea.

As the group walked down to the street, she hoped that the excursion would settle Dick down. All of them had noticed something a bit off with the young man. He was a little _too_ cheerful, a bit _too_ animated. Something was bothering him, but it was up to Bruce to find out, not her or Ollie. 

_Maybe it’s just artistic temperament. I surely understand that,_ she thought wryly.

They took a carriage to the neighborhood, alighting on the _Boulevard St. Germain._ They strolled along the streets past cafes and private homes. Artists painted at easels on the sidewalks, poets recited their odes and mimes performed their routines. A mustachioed man played a mandolin and passersby threw coins into an upturned hat at his feet. 

“Oh, look, a bookstore,” Dinah pointed.

The sign read _Shakespeare & Company Bookshop._ A little bell jingled over the door as they entered.

Books were everywhere, jammed into bookcases and leaning dangerously in towering piles. Books were stacked on the floor and on tables. The few chairs held more tomes as an elderly man sat at a counter, hunched over a large book. He wore a green eyeshade and his sleeves were rolled up. Wire-rimmed glasses were perched on the end of his nose.

The shopkeeper paid no attention to them as they browsed the shelves. Dinah smiled to herself as she saw Bruce and Dick disappear around the corner.

“Hey, Pretty Bird.” Ollie said as he put his hand on Dinah’s shoulders. “Oh, if my French is correct, this is a rather bawdy novel.”

Dinah smirked. “Leave it to the French, eh?”

“Who better?” He nuzzled her neck.

“Naughty Yankee.”

“The best kind.” He rubbed her shoulders. “Where’s Bruce and his ballet dancer?”

“Around the corner.” The bookcase shook and books fell from the top of the case to the floor with a thump.

“What rascals,” Ollie chuckled.

Dinah elbowed him in the ribs. “Quit it, Don Juan.”

“Oof! Careful, darling, those self-defense lessons of yours are working very well.”

Dinah laughed as she put the book back. “Maybe we can pick up some French postcards on our way back to the hotel.”

“Oo-la-la.”

She giggled. “You’re awful, Ollie.”

“And you love it.”

She had to admit that he was right, but only to herself. “Don’t get cocky, rich boy.”

“Mmm, I love it when you talk money, baby.”

Dinah laughed. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I hope so.”

Bruce and Dick emerged from around the corner, their clothing slightly askew but with big smiles on their faces.

_Bruce knows how to settle down his man._

Bruce bought a book on Impressionism and the shopkeeper roused himself long enough to quote the book’s price and take his money, then returned to his reading. The amused group left the shop and eventually ended up at _Café de Flores_ for tea and pastries.

“I like this place,” aid Dick with a sweep of his arm to indicate the neighborhood.

“It suits you,” Bruce said affectionately.

Dick grinned. Dinah could see why Bruce had fallen so hard for this man. He seemed to _sparkle,_ for crying out loud!

“Of course.” Dick sipped his tea. “You know what? We should come back here tonight. They say the cabaret life is to be seen to be believed.”

“I like that idea.” Ollie finished his raspberry turnover. “A little Paris nightlife would suit us just fine, wouldn’t it, my dear?”

Dinah patted him on the knee. “Absolutely, darling.”

“Such lovebirds,” cooed Bruce, fluttering his lashes.

They all laughed and left the café to return to the hotel.

& & & & & &

The soft _clop-clop-clop_ of the horses’ hooves could be heard clearly in the carriage. Alfred had chosen to retire early so it was just the four of them dressed for a night on the town. While the three Americans were dressed a little more casually than usual, Dick had gone all out. He glittered in his red suit with the yellow vest and green cravat and a ruby stickpin. He wore no hat but did wear a red silk cape with gold lining. He was ready to ‘paint the town red’.

Their first stop was a club called _The Cellar,_ appropriately named as they had to walk down a flight of stairs into a dark, smoky room. Tables were scattered around as a chubby man sat on a stool playing the mandolin. Drinks flowed freely and laughter filled the cramped space, though there was a small area for dancing.

Dinah noticed the brunet man in the corner, his dark eyes taking in everything. His hands were large and nimble as he played with a cigar.

“That’s Picasso,” she whispered as she jabbed Dick in the ribs.

Dick immediately went over to a group of musicians drinking at a nearby table. He talked to them and gave them some money. They pushed their chairs back and drew in the mandolin player as they began a lively tune. Dick stepped into the center of the room and began to dance.

Dinah was impressed. Not only could the young man dance a highly disciplined form like ballet, but he was excellent at improvisation. His movement was mesmerizing, ribbons of light following him as he danced with wild abandon.

She could see that Bruce was completely captivated. She could not blame him for that.

She hoped that she had done the right thing by telling Dick about Bruce’s reaction to his parents’ deaths. Bruce rarely spoke of that night at all, and he probably would not have wanted her to say anything, but she felt that Dick had the right to know how much he affected Bruce’s life.

Everyone’s attention was on Dick, including Picasso. He sipped his wine as his eyes followed every move Dick made. People clapped as Dick spun around-and-around, his cape swirling in a riot of glitter. He kicked out and leaned back, then went into a wild flurry of movement. Shouts of encouragement kept him going until he finally did one final spin and bowed to thunderous applause.

Dick was ready to rejoin his friends when Picasso beckoned him with his finger. Dick went over to his table and the others followed.

“You have fine command of your body,” said the artist. “I would like to paint you.”

“Thank you. I find the notion intriguing.”

“Good, though I warn you, I do not paint like Degas or Toulouse-Latrec.”

“I know your style, Mr. Picasso.”

“Good, then there will be few surprises. I will send you the times when I can paint.”

“I’ll let you know when I can come. My rehearsal schedule isn’t consistent.”

“Rehearsal?”

“Yes, I dance for the _Ballet Magnifique.”_

“Ah.” Picasso looked at Dick with new respect. “Keep dancing the wild dances, young man. You have a gift.” 

For the rest of the evening the quartet went from club to club, dancing and drinking and by the time they went back to the Hotel des Jardins, no one was in any condition to do anything but sleep. Dick tumbled into bed with Bruce, drunkenly accepting the offer of sleeping with his friend as it was too far to his own hotel.

& & & & & &

By the time Dick returned to his hotel the following afternoon nursing a hangover, a note was waiting for him, slipped under his door. He groaned as he bent down for it, cursing his drinking the night before. He opened the note and his blood froze.

& & & & & &

_I know your secret, stinking Gypsy. Pay me $5,000 or I’ll expose you. Instructions to follow._  



	18. Maze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is out of sorts.

  
_Trapped_  
 _In a maze,_  
 _Running_  
 _Desperately_  
 _To find_  
 _The way out,_  
 _The walls_  
 _Closing in_  
 _Around you,_  
 _Sharpening_  
 _The tongue._

  


**Lady Elsinore Abernathy**  
 **"The Mystery Of The Maze"**  
 **1906 C.E.**

Bruce found himself enjoying sightseeing with Ollie and Dinah with Alfred occasionally joining in while Dick was busy rehearsing. They attended other plays and ballets, and before Bruce knew it a week had passed without seeing Dick. He was determined to fix that situation right away.

He was in his customary box at the theater to watch _Sleeping Beauty._ As he absorbed the ballet, he frowned.

_Something’s not right. Dick is not dancing…what’s the word? Normally? As gracefully as usual? With focus?_

Whatever was the matter, Bruce felt as if he was the only one to notice. He would have to find out what was going on.

After the ballet was over, Bruce went backstage. Clint smiled and greeted him.

“Hello, Clint. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good. We’re packin’ ‘em in every night.”

“Good to hear. Looks like my investment is well-taken-care-of.”

“Yessir.” Clint looked around. “Alone tonight? No Mr. Pennyworth or the Queens?”

“That’s right. Going stag, that’s me.”

Clint smirked. “Like those stag films?”

“Yes, kind of like that.”

“Funny how even the short films we have now are just right for stag films, apparently.”

“Well, let’s face it. Our parents and grandparents’ generations were not as straitlaced as they liked to present themselves.”

Clint laughed. “True. I’ve seen some of the ‘special’ photographs that were circulated at certain clubs and societies. Pretty risque for those staid Victorians.”

Bruce thought of Dick in one of those explicit photographs. Maybe he could persuade him to pose for some erotic photographs for private viewing only.

“Well, it goes to show you, can’t always tell a book by its cover,” said Bruce.

“No, you can’t,” Clint agreed cheerfully.

“See you later, Clint.”

“Sure, Bruce.”

Bruce knocked on the door of Dick’s dressing room. “You decent?” There was no answer. “Dick?” He cautiously pushed the door open.

“Hey!” snapped Dick.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you …”

“So you barge right in? Damn it, Bruce!”

“I apologize.”

“Fine.” Dick was removing his make-up.

“I thought that we could...”

“I’ve got a headache. I’m just going back to my hotel.”

Bruce blinked. “All right.” He put his hand on the back of Dick’s chair. “Are you okay? Besides the headache, I mean?”

Dick glared into the mirror. “Just go, will you? I’m exhausted.”

Bruce frowned. He started to argue but thought better of it. “All right.” He kissed the top of his lover’s head. “Feel better.”

& & & & & &

After Bruce had departed, Dick slammed his hand down on his dressing table. The jars and bottles rattled. He had not lied about the headache.

_A big one is brewing. A real beauty. Just what I need._

The door opened again. “Jeez, Bruce, can’t you take a hint? I’m not interested tonight!”

“Whoa, _tovarisch,_ what has gotten you so wound up?”

“Natasha,” Dick sighed.

“What is going on? You are biting my head off and our American millionaire is grumpy, too.” Her eyes narrowed in the mirror and she put her hands on her hips. “Did you two have a lovers’ quarrel?”

“No, we did _not!”_ Dick threw down his make-up-smeared tissue. 

“Well, then, _someone’s_ playing the diva.”

Dick gripped his dressing table with white knuckles. “Please, ‘Tasha, I’m not in the mood.”

Natasha walked quietly over to the dressing table and put her hands on his shoulders. 

“What is wrong, _tovarisch?”_

Dick stared down at the cluttered table. He could smell her perfume mixed with greasepaint. “Please go. I’m just tired.”

She squeezed Dick’s shoulders. “All right, but if you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

After she had left, Dick stared into the mirror. His nerves were on edge since he had received the blackmail note. He could gather five thousand dollars, though it would make a considerable dent in his savings. He was still waiting for a note with further instructions a week later and the uncertainty was getting to him. 

What worried him was that after he paid the money, more would be demanded. Wasn’t that always the way with blackmailers?

He got up and began pacing. He simply could not tell Natasha or Bruce about the note. They were good people, but sometimes even good people became irrational over the subject of Gypsies.

 _I couldn’t bear it if I saw disgust in Bruce’s eyes._ He wiped his brow. He was working himself up into a fevered state. _I’d better go back to the hotel and try and get some sleep._

& & & & & &

The next night Dick consented to go out with Bruce. It was a large party that left the theater: Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Natasha and Clint as they headed for a late supper at _The Red Slipper._ Dinah and Ollie were waiting for them at the restaurant, eager to be introduced to Natasha.

When they arrived at the restaurant, they discovered that Ollie had requested a private alcove table. The Queens stood to greet their guests.

Natasha immediately strode toward Dinah, who met her in the center of the alcove. They sized each other up like two prizefighters in the ring, Bruce thought with amusement.

_Two divas at the height of their powers. Should be an interesting night._

He glanced at Dick. While heartened at his lover’s acceptance of the Queens’ invitation, he knew that something was still wrong.

 _Maybe a relaxing evening out will help._

After everyone was seated and had ordered, Dinah asked, “A wonderful performance last night, Miss Romanoff. Your talent shines on-stage.”

“Thank you, Miss Lance.” Natasha had been told about Dinah’s stage identity and she deliberately used her unmarried name as one professional woman to another. “I know that your voice is one of the finest in the business.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

Ollie and Bruce exchanged amused looks as Clint hid his smirk behind his champagne glass, Alfred studied his place setting, and Dick coughed into his napkin.

The women exchanged flattery as they verbally circled each other. Would there be only one Queen Bee left standing or could they co-exist?

The men were smart enough to stay out of the women’s way. They enjoyed a sumptuous meal of grilled fish and fresh asparagus in butter sauce with creamy au gratin potatoes sprinkled with red pepper flakes. French bread with country butter was piping-hot. Champagne bubbled in fluted glasses as Natasha and Dinah parried and feinted.

“So, Bruce tells me you’re related to the Czar?” asked Dinah.

 _“Da._ I am cousin to Nicholas.” 

Bruce was amused by how thick Natasha’s accent had become this evening.

“That must be exciting, to have an entree into the Court of the Czar.”

“It is of interest, yes.” Natasha ate a piece of fish. “But surely you have performed before the crowned heads of Europe?”

“Quite often.” Dinah sipped her champagne. “And more glitter in places like New York and San Francisco.”

“Do they really love opera all that much in America?”

“Some do. Star City is building up a fine company, and Gotham is planning to do the same.”

“They sound like quaint cities.”

“Star City might be, but Gotham is more Gothic than quaint.”

“It’s true.” Bruce smiled nonchalantly.

“Do you dance, Miss Lance?” asked Natasha.

“Yes, but nothing like you.”

“Well, I sing in shower, but have no Canary Cry.”

Both women chuckled. Ollie waved his handkerchief in relief and Dick grinned. Bruce smiled in agreement. Seeing Natasha and Dinah find common ground was a good thing for all concerned.

Dinah lifted her glass. “To artistic talent that makes our lives better.”

The men lifted their glasses and Dinah clinked hers to Natasha’s. Everyone drank and Natasha declared, “Ah, toasts! Delights the Russian soul. We must have _vodka_ someday.” Her eyes sparkled. “Now, I propose toast. To good friends, who with _vodka_ make everything right.”

“Hear, hear!” Ollie said, and glasses were clinked again.

Bruce clinked glasses with Dick, glad to see that his lover was taking part in the gaiety. Dick’s eyes were bright as he smiled; a welcome change from the last few days. He hoped that it meant that Dick was no longer troubled.

The rest of the evening went well, and when the party broke up Bruce asked him, “Come back to the hotel with me?”

Dick squeezed his hand. “I have to get up early for rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Bruce squeezed back. At least the excuse for not seeing him was a legitimate one. “See you later.”

Dick nodded.

& & & & & &

The next morning Bruce was on his way out to meet Ollie and Dina at the Arc de Triomphe when a messenger handed him a note. He tipped the boy and opened it.

& & & & & &

_Dear Bruce,_

_Dick did not show up for rehearsal this morning. Could you please stop by the hotel and see if he is all right?_

_Natasha_

& & & & & &

Bruce had a key and after knocking several times without a response, he let himself in. The room was dark as the drapes were still drawn. The maids had not come around yet.

A moan lured his attention to the bed. “Dick!” Another moan met his exclamation. He opened the drapes and light streamed in. The blanket was pulled up to Dick’s chin and he was shivering. His skin was flushed and clammy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bruce said sadly. He put his hand on Dick’s brow. “You’re burning up!”

Bruce sent for a doctor. He wet a washcloth and wiped Dick’s face. “Should’ve known with your too-bright eyes. Damn it, Dick, why didn’t you _tell_ me you were sick?”

Bruce let the doctor in ten minutes later. The man sported muttonchop sideburns, his white hair carefully slicked down. His clothes were expensive, so he must have a successful practice, Bruce thought. At least he hoped so.

Dr. Philippe Gateau seemed to be competent, using a stethoscope to listen to Dick’s heart and doing other medical things that satisfied Bruce. Gateau finished his examination and put his stethoscope away in his black bag.

“He has caught the _grippe,_ I am afraid. Probably brought on by exhaustion.”

“So what can be done?”

“I will leave a draught and a prescription for more. Keep wiping him down. I will inform the hotel manager to keep the maids out until the young man has passed the crisis. They can leave food and other items outside your door.”

“Because he’s contagious?”

Gateau nodded. “But he’s young and strong. He’s one of those dancers at the _Ballet Magnifique,_ isn’t he? My wife dragged me to see a performance last week.”

“He’s the star, along with Miss Romanoff.”

“Yes, I remember her quite well.” The physician wrote on his prescription pad and ripped off the top page, handing it to Bruce. “If you require more, you can send a messenger around to the chemist. My number is also on the pad. I have a telephone, but if the hotel’s telephone is out, there is my address to send a messenger in case I am needed. I will also leave a thermometer. If his temperature reaches 103 degrees, do not wait to send for me. Have him transported to _St. Joan d’Arc_ Hospital right away.”

Bruce noted the instructions. “Doctor, I need to send a message to friends I was supposed to meet. Also a note to my butler. Could you see that the manager gets them?” 

_“Certainement.”_ Gateau took the note after Bruce hastily wrote the missives. “Adieu, _Monsieur_ Wayne."

Once the doctor departed, Bruce took a fresh cloth and wiped Dick down. He cared little that Dick was contagious. He would not have left him even if he had the bubonic plague. 

He settled in for a long haul, trying not to panic. The grippe could be inconsequential or fatal, depending on what Alfred called ‘the turn of the wheel’. He would stay and help Dick get through this. The wheel would turn _their_ way if he had anything to say about it.

& & & & & &

Bruce kept the drapes open so that he could see the stars. Notes from Alfred, Ollie and Dinah had arrived earlier that day, slipped under the door. He had asked Alfred to go and tell Natasha the news. She had sent a note of her own, all of them offering help if necessary. He had sent notes back assuring them that he would send for them if he needed their assistance.

“No…Mama…Papa… _leave them alone!”_

Dick thrashed violently, fighting some terrible enemy. Bruce grasped his shoulders, trying to calm him, but Dick gasped and pleaded, tears running down his cheeks.

Finally Dick collapsed, more from exhaustion than anything else. Bruce sat in his chair as the moonlight spilled into the room, illuminating a very pale Dick.

He could not imagine life without this beautiful soul. Dick soothed the rage and anguish that had burned for years inside him.

_Something terrible happened to his parents._

His heart ached, a pain that he knew well. He brushed the hair back from his patient’s brow. He wished that Dick would tell him what had happened. Of all people, he could help.

He sighed and stood up, stretching stiff muscles. He walked around the room and spotted a new note that had been slipped under the door. He bent down and picked it up, unfolding it.

& & & & & &

_Bring the money next Friday at 1:00 to the Gardens of **Versailles.** Place it under the cupid fountain and walk away._


	19. The Blackest Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce learns Dick’s secret.

  
_With blackest heart,_   
_He skulks_   
_In the shadows,_   
_Whispering his words_   
_Of threat_   
_And terror,_   
_Demanding gold_   
_And promising_   
_Silence._   


  


**Sir Albert Torvath**   
**"The Blackest Heart"**   
**1888 C.E.**

_Blackmail!_

Bruce was shocked. He started down at the note he held, its ugly words illuminated by the moonlight. His hand shook and he was tempted to crumple it up and throw it into the fire.

He looked over at Dick. What could his sweet soul have done to warrant blackmail? His heart pounded as all manners of terrible possibilities flittered through his mind.

_Or is this a grave injustice somehow?_

Bruce’s mind was in a whirl. He sneezed and realized that he had used his handkerchief awhile ago to wipe Dick down while the washcloth dried. He needed to find another one.

Bruce opened the top dresser drawer. Nothing except Dick’s shirts. He went down to the next drawer and did a quick rummage, knocking his hand against a small box. The lid sprung open and Bruce’s eye was caught by the glint of moonlight off a piece of jewelry nestled inside.

_Looks like a ring._ He lifted it out. _No, an earring._

He wondered who it had belonged to. _An old girlfriend, perhaps? She must have lost one of the pair._

He held it up to the light. It was plain gold but well-made. He frowned. Something about this earring…

Then he remembered. He had seen the exact same earring worn by the boy he and Dick had rescued from a beating by thugs last December in Russia.

_That boy was a Gypsy!_

He looked over at Dick in the bed. He clenched the earring tightly.

Finally he replaced the earring in its box and put it back in the drawer, grabbed a handkerchief, and closed the drawer. He went back to the chair by the bed and sat down slowly.

& & & & & &

Dick eventually recovered, abashed at Bruce staying at his side. Bruce said nothing about the note while Dick was still ill, but the deadline in the blackmail note was fast approaching.

“Glad to see you feeling better.” Bruce sat comfortably in his familiar chair next to the bed.

“I am very glad to be feeling better, believe me.” Dick grimaced as he tried to get comfortable. 

Bruce took a deep breath. “I dislike bringing this up while you’re still recovering, but there’s no help for it.” He took the note out of his jacket pocket. Dick’s face paled, a ghastly sight as he had been pale to begin with. He took the note with shaking hands.

He read it quickly, then started down at the blanket. “So you know.”

“Yes.” Bruce touched Dick’s shoulder and felt him flinch. “Why didn’t you tell me you were being blackmailed?”

“And tell you…?” Dick lifted his head and Bruce drew in his breath as he saw his lover’s haunted eyes.

“I know that you’re a Gypsy,” he said gently.

Dick flinched again. “Roma.” 

“What?”

“It’s what we call ourselves.”

“Oh.”

Dick leaned back against the pillows. “I understand that you’ll be dropping me. I just ask that you keep my secret.”

Bruce’s mouth opened in astonishment. “Why would I leave you?”

“Because I’m Roma.”

Bruce grabbed Dick’s arm. “Listen to me. I don’t care that you’re a Gypsy, or Roma, or whatever. I _love_ you!”

Dick blinked. He looked very tired, and Bruce thought that it was not just a result of his illness. How long had he worried about this before he fell ill? It probably helped bring on his collapse.

“You can’t mean that. If it was discovered that you were involved with a Roma you’d be drummed out of Society, not to mention that I’m male, but even if people didn’t realize we were romantically involved, it would still go badly for you.”

“First of all,” Bruce said calmly, “we aren’t going to let the world know our romantic business, and secondly, even if inversion was accepted but your heritage was not, I would never give you up, Society be damned!”

Dick’s eyes blurred with tears. His illness was making him weepy. Bruce handed him his handkerchief and Dick wiped his eyes and blew his nose.

“Where do we go from here?” Dick asked, hiccuping a few times.

“We plot to capture the blackmailer.”

“How?”

“He wants you to make the drop in the Versailles Gardens.” Bruce’s eyes gleamed. “We’ll have to bring Dinah and Ollie into this. Alfred is a given.”

“I…” Dick looked supremely uncomfortable.

“Dinah and Ollie can be trusted,” Bruce said gently. “I’ve known Ollie since we were kids, and Dinah for a very long time.” Bruce tapped his knee as he thought this out. “Natasha and Clint, too.”

“They know.”

“Good. And I’ve seen their archery skills. They would be quite useful.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

Bruce smiled with almost feral intensity.

& & & & & &

Dick was still weak but he was necessary to carry this operation off. The seven of them met in Bruce’s hotel suite, Natasha taking note of the Gardens layout as drawn in a brochure advertising tours of _Versailles._

“We need to be stationed around the Gardens but not be obvious.”

“Agreed,” said Clint. He and Ollie had hit if off right away when Bruce mentioned Clint’s archery skills. Ollie had talent in that area himself and immediately fell to discussing its finer points with the stagehand.

Bruce was grateful that his friends did not let class distinctions interfere with life. So many of those in Society did, and the British were ten times worse.

Most of all, he was grateful that everyone was okay with Dick’s heritage. It would still have to be kept secret, as the general public would never accept a Roma as star of the ballet, but otherwise there were no problems within the group. He was very proud of his friends.

“We should choreograph this,” Dinah said. “Like a ballet.” She smiled at Natasha and Dick.

_“Da._ That is what we must do.”

Planning went smoothly, Bruce ordering tea and pastries to be sent up. Dick was looking pale but determined to hold up his end in this little drama. He was center stage, a place that suited him, as the only one they wanted the blackmailer to notice in the Gardens.

“Dick makes the drop,” said Ollie. “Dinah and I will be close by, to the west, and Natasha and Clint will be the couple to the east. Alfred will be south and Bruce north.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Clint drawled.

“Better be a good one,” Bruce said. “We can’t let this guy get away.” He and Dick exchanged weighted looks. Even though everyone knew Dick’s secret, they still shared a link that no one else did. It made Bruce feel warm inside.

“We have to plan for all eventualities,” said Natasha. “What if the blackmailer does something unexpected? What is our response?”

“Do we stay anonymous or reveal ourselves?” Dinah asked.

“Depends on what the blackmailer does, I should say,” Alfred said calmly.

“Yes,” Bruce agreed. “I think we should expect to break our facades once the cretin shows up and we grab him.”

“We will have to be subtle, however,” Natasha persisted. “If we are obvious, we will scare off the blackmailer.”

“Good point.” Ollie frowned. “Dick, you’re certain you don’t have any idea who’s blackmailing you?”

Dick shook his head. “No one but Natasha and Clint know about me, or at least that’s what I thought.” He sighed and crossed his arms. “While I thought I was safe, of course nothing can be one hundred percent.”

Bruce hurt as he clearly saw Dick’s pain. What must it be like to keep such an enormous secret, hated simply for who you were? He knew that some people resented him for his wealth and privilege, but not his heritage.

He supposed it was very much like being a Negro back home, hated merely for the color of their skin. He kept his counsel, of course, because he doubted that Dick would appreciate his thoughts being vocalized in front of everybody.

“All right, then. Let us time this thing out,” said Natasha. “At fifteen minutes before noon, Clint and I will…”

Bruce listened to Natasha while watching Dick. He had to admit that his cheerful, sunny lover could hide his feelings very well when he wanted to do so. Could it have been a lifetime of hiding his secret that made him so skilled?

& & & & & &

After everybody had left, Bruce helped Dick into bed. His lover was exhausted and needed rest before the events of the next day. Bruce plumped up the pillows and Dick rested back against their softness. As Bruce pulled up the covers, Dick grasped his arm.

“Did you really mean it? About loving me?”

Bruce’s expression softened as he felt his heart quicken. “Yes,” he said simply.

Tears shimmered in Dick’s eyes as he smiled shakily. “Me, too.”

Bruce pulled Dick into a tight embrace.

Nothing would stop them now.


	20. The Garden Of Versailles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wait for the blackmailer begins.

  
_In spring’s glow,_   
_The air is light,_   
_As the sweet scent_   
_Mingles bright,_   
_And when_   
_The grass bows_   
_Its blades,_   
_All shall know_   
_That winter fades._

  


**Adella Knowlton**   
**"A Lovely Spring Day"**   
**1906 C.E.**

The Gardens of _Versailles_ were even more beautiful than the Palace itself. The Hall of Mirrors was certainly grand, almost a fairytale in its majesty and allure, but Bruce found the outdoors soothing, somehow.

He casually strolled through the Gardens, having already made a pass through this area earlier. He passed the Apollo Fountain and headed for a nearby _bousquet,_ admiring the trees formally planted as a quincux. A light breeze blew through the grove as Bruce turned back toward the fountain. 

He studied the magnificent fountain as Apollo drove his chariot toward the sun. The depiction of Apollo reminded him of Dick, though his lover was not as broad-shouldered.

It was the sun motif that made Bruce think of Dick. When Dick was happy, which was more often than not, he reminded Bruce of sunshine. After years of gloom, he welcomed it.

He gritted his teeth. He resented this blackmailer darkening his beloved’s life with his foul greed. The man was also stupid. Dick had not been a premier dancer long enough to have accumulated a considerable fortune. Why not blackmail a wealthy person?

It was a vile business, blackmail. He was determined to free Dick from it as soon as possible.

The day was pleasant and the grounds immaculate. Bruce appreciated the Manor’s grounds back home. Perhaps contemplating trees and flowers soothed his nerves.

He moved casually, as if observing the beauty of his surroundings. He knew how to judge cultivated gardens and hoped that the blackmailer took no notice of him.

He could see Natasha and Clint several yards away as they played a young couple out for a stroll. Dinah and Ollie were playing the same role in the opposite direction. Alfred was discreetly examining blooms close to the Apollo Fountain.

There were other people around, enjoying the fine day and Gardens, but none of them looked furtive or otherwise suspicious. Most were couples, a few families, and the solitary men were dressed as gentlemen.

Dick sauntered into view, dressed conservatively for once. He admired the fountain and casually dropped a satchel by the base and wandered off as if he had not a care in the world. He was a consummate actor.

It was now up to the rest of them to keep watch. Dick had to disappear; otherwise the blackmailer would not show himself. It was a waiting game now.

Bruce contemplated a rosebush, inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers. He turned slightly to view the fountain. A small boy skipped over, too busy splashing his hands in the water to notice the satchel. An exasperated nanny appeared and scolded the boy, dragging him away from the fountain.

The sun was at its zenith as noon approached, and Bruce was grateful that it was still spring and relatively cool. Waiting in broiling summer would not have suited him.

He wished something would happen. Had the blackmailer spotted them and been scared off? Anything was possible in this wretched game.

There was a scream from several yards away. Bruce’s head snapped up as his heart pounded. Was that Dick? The person screamed again and this time he recognized it as a woman’s scream. He began to run.

He burst into a clearing and saw a young woman sitting on the ground as she sobbed. Her skirts billowed out on the grass and her hat was knocked askew. Her bodice was torn as she looked up fearfully at Bruce’s sudden appearance.

“What’s wrong?”

“A…a man accosted me!”

Dinah and Ollie appeared and Ollie asked, “What did he look like and where did he go?”

“He was…short, and dark-haired, dressed a bit shabbily. He went that way.” She pointed to the east.

Bruce and Ollie took off while Dinah stayed behind with the woman. They searched for ten minutes but found no signs of a man that the victim described.

Returning to the clearing, Ollie said regretfully, “We couldn’t find him, Miss.”

Dinah had helped the woman onto a stone bench. Wisps of red hair trailed from under her fashionable straw hat. Freckles sprinkled a pretty face.

“That’s all right. I was fortunate so many people were around to help.”

“Yes, well, we’re sorry we couldn’t catch him,” Bruce said. 

Alfred appeared with a mildly distressed expression. “Sir, during the excitement, the satchel was taken.”

Bruce’s stomach dropped. “Then he knows it was a trap.”

“Quite so.”

Bruce cursed under his breath. There had been a little money on top of a stack of blank papers in the satchel in case that the blackmailer checked it, but nothing else. Now he would know that they had tricked him.

_Dick, I’m so sorry._

As if conjured up by magic, Dick appeared. His blue eyes were wide as he asked, “What happened?” 

Bruce took a deep breath. “Our man took advantage of a fortuitous distraction. He took the satchel.”

Dick’s expression froze. He knew what that meant.

The beautiful Gardens of _Versailles_ suddenly became chill as a strong wind blew.


	21. 'Quoth The Raven'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick remembers he and Bruce searching for the blackmailer in Paris.

  
**Part Four**

**Summer’s Light**

**XXI**

**‘QUOTH THE RAVEN’**

**June 1, 1907**

  


  
_The birth_   
_Of a new dawn_   
_Is always_   
_Glorious._   


  


**Sir Malcolm Attwood**  
 **“Days Of The Raj In India,**  
 **1861-1867”**  
 **1872 C.E.**

The Mediterranean light was the stuff of artists’ dreams: a bright, pure quality that was best observed in the Greek Islands. 

The _Ballet Magnifique_ sailed on the _Diamond Princess,_ a ship bound for Athens where they had an engagement. They would dance in the city and in a special performance at the Acropolis.

Ollie and Dinah had disembarked at Rome, and would rejoin them at the end of the month in Athens. The shipboard life suited Bruce.

He relaxed on a lounge chair, dressed in white pants and blue blazer with the Wayne family crest emblazoned on the fine fabric. A yachting cap shaded his eyes as he gazed at the sparkling water.

Dick walked gracefully down the deck and slipped into the empty chair next to Bruce. He wore a similar outfit, except his pants were green, his blazer red, and the scarf he had tossed around his neck was canary-yellow. His hair fluttered in the wind as he wore no hat.

“You’re looking very languorous,” Bruce commented.

“I hope so.”

Bruce could see lines of tension around Dick’s mouth. It had been two weeks since the fiasco in the Gardens of _Versailles._ Since then there had been no further blackmail demands, but of course that meant nothing. However, so far Dick’s secret had not been revealed. It was frustrating not to know when the hammer would be dropped.

They had discreetly inquired around Paris in an effort to find out anything, but they had no clues, at least not at first. Even when he and Dick had gone to the Left Bank during the evenings and trolled the clubs, they had picked up no information on blackmailers, until…

“Do you think that I’ll be famous now that Picasso’s painted me?” Dick asked.

“Maybe, though nobody will recognize you. Not with Picasso’s style.”

Dick laughed. “You’re right. Unless people think I look like a cube, I should be all right.”

“Don’t worry, all will be well. No more strife. _‘Quoth the Raven, nevermore!’”_

“What a frightening bird.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Bruce asked thoughtfully.

“I prefer the nightingale, as in the glittery one you gave me.” 

“It is better suited to you.” Bruce thought of the journey through Paris’ nightclubs as American millionaire and his Bohemian companion. No one had guessed…

_Maybe the blackmailer was scared off. He’s unlikely to follow us to Athens._

He hoped for the best.

& & & & & &

It was the usual chaos at the theater in Athens. The stagehands were busy setting up and the dancers were stretching in a small room set aside for the purpose. Dick finished his exercises and walked backstage with a towel around his neck. He met Clint, who wiped his brow with a hanky.

“Man, set-up never gets easier,” he said. “Glad Haclav’s back."

“Was he ill?”

“His brother was. He took off for a few days in Paris but luckily his brother wasn’t sick long. One guy gone makes all the difference.”

“I bet,” Dick said sympathetically.

“Well, gotta get back to it.” Clint stuffed the hanky in his back pocket.

“I won’t be in your way on-stage, will I? I want to rehearse some moves.”

“Nah, go ahead.”

Dick went out on the boards, feeling right at home. All he needed was a spotlight. Smiling, he threw the towel into the first row of seats and began his routine.

As he danced, he remembered the nights that he and Bruce had prowled the nightclubs of Paris in pursuit of his blackmailer…

& & & & & &

_Smoke wreathed the heads of the denizens of **The Copper Pot** as the flutist and mandolin player entertained the crowd._

_Dick smirked as he followed Bruce to a corner table. Bruce was garbed in a dark cloak and expensive suit of navy blue with gray vest shot through with silver. Dick was dressed in a more Bohemian fashion in a wine-red suit and matching cloak with a yellow vest and gold threads. Both carried walking sticks, Bruce with a silver wolf’s head, Dick’s a gold eagle. Both wore formal white gloves._

_When they settled at the table, a waiter came over and took their orders for wine. The gentlemen at the next table were too upper class to be the contacts they sought. Bruce’s eyes roamed the crowd and he settled on a stubbled man in shabby clothes, nursing a wine of his own._

_Bruce leaned over and addressed one of the gentlemen. “Who is that man over there?”_

_The gentleman looked and sniffed. “A most unsavory character, **Monsieur.** The kind no gentleman would associate with.”_

_“Thank you.”_

& & & & & &

Dick went through a series of leaps on-stage, feeling the power of his body. His lips curved into a secret smile. He and Bruce had enjoyed the power of their bodies in a different way last night.

As he swirled and dipped, his mind went back to Paris and later in the evening after prowling the nightclubs…

& & & & & &

_The moon was only a sliver in the sky as two figures glided along the alleys in the shadows. They were as one with the darkness, the taller man in a black suit, vest and cape, and a black domino mask covering half his face. He carried a cane with a silver raven’s head and wore black gloves._

_The shorter man was dressed in a dark-red vest and green suit, his green cape lined with startling yellow, the color of his silk cravat. He carried a cane with a golden nightingale’s head and wore a green domino mask. His gloves were green._

_The man they sought exited a club across the street and staggered slightly across the cobblestones. He was the stubbled man in shabby clothes, his broad face wary as he passed the alley where the two costumed men waited._

_He cried out as the taller man grabbed him and pulled him into the alley. {What’s going on?”}_

_{”We want to know who are currently practicing the vile art of blackmail,”} spoke the taller shadow._

_{”Bah, how would I know?”}_

_{”Don’t be modest, **Monsieur,** } said the smaller shadow. {“You are a knowledgeable man.”}_

_{”Bah,”} he said again. {”I know nothing, nothing, I say!”}_

_{”You know enough.”} The taller shadow’s voice was low and menacing. {”Tell us who has been blackmailing his betters!”}_

_{”Anyone in mind?”} came the sardonic retort._

_{”Someone in the entertainment field,”} the smaller shadow said coolly._

_{”Oh, that narrows it down.”} Despite his fear, the man’s voice dripped sarcasm._

_{”You are being combative, **Monsieur** Batitte.” Batitte froze as his name was used. {”You must be more cooperative.}_

_Batitte spat on the ground. {“Why should I?”}_

_{”Because it would be in your best interests to do so.”}_

_Before Batitte could scoff the taller shadow smashed his cane against the alley wall, the silver head sparking in the dim light of the street lamp. A low growl made the hairs stand up on the back of Batitte’s neck._

_{”All right, all right! On **Rue Bardot,** Number 12, you will find a weasel by the name of Bouchet. Now leave me alone!”}_

_A whisper tickled his ear. { **”’Quoth the Raven, nevermore!’!”** }_

_The scruffy man ran out of the alley as fast as his legs could carry him._

& & & & & &

Dick finished his routine and rested at center stage, idly gazing out at the audience seats. He felt good, his body in the peak of condition. He would be ready for tonight’s performance…

He heard a loud snap overhead and Clint yelled from the wings, “Dive to your right!”

Dick obeyed, diving out of the way just in time as a huge burlap sack smashed down onto the stage, its seams bursting and sawdust splattering all over the wood.


	22. Greek Perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Dick visit an exhibit of Greek sculpture with passionate results.

  
_Marble beauty_  
 _Smooth and clean,_  
 _Greek perfection_  
 _Strong and lean._

_Sturdy thighs,_  
 _Curving lips,_  
 _Rounded buttocks_  
 _Graceful hips._

_All together,_  
 _Passion bright,_  
 _All together,_  
 _Passion night._

  


**Sir Mallory Knightwick**  
 **"Greek Passion"**  
 **1863 C.E.**

“Someone tried to kill you!”

Bruce’s face was white with fear as he stared at Dick, who felt a little shaky. It had been a close call.

“It was just an accident, Bruce.” Dick tried to soothe his distraught lover but Bruce would have none of it.

Clint and Natasha looked shaken, too. Clint clapped a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “We’ve checked the catwalk but found nothing to indicate who it might have been.”

Bruce bent down and picked up the rope that encircled the remains of the burlap bag. “It’s been cut.”

Dick felt sick as he looked at the neat cut.

“Who would want to kill Dick?” Clint demanded.

“I don’t know,” Bruce said grimly. “Unless…”

“Yes?” Natasha asked intently.

“What about the blackmailer?”

Clint frowned. “Why kill the golden goose?”

“Payback for the trick was pulled on him at Versailles.”

“Possibly,” Natasha said slowly. “But we need more evidence.”

“No one was up there,” Clint said.

“So they say, but somebody had to cut that rope,” Bruce said stubbornly. “We should call the police.”

“The Athens police won’t be of much use.”

“Maybe, but we should report it and get it as a matter of record.”

“I suppose,” Natasha said grudgingly. “But we must figure out who tried to kill Dick.”

Dick raised his hand. “Does the intended victim get a vote?”

“What?” Bruce’s tone was impatient.

“I think a matter of record is good. As for who tried to squash me like a wheatcake, you’ll be our best investigator, Clint. A stagehand had to be the one to cut the rope, or someone who dressed like one.”

“True.” Clint crossed his arms. “I’ll nose around.”

“Be careful.” Natasha thumped him on the shoulder.

“Always, _tovarish._ ”

She smiled and nodded firmly.

The group broke up as the police were sent for, and Bruce went with Dick to his dressing room. As soon as he closed the door behind them, Bruce grabbed Dick and pulled him close.

“I couldn’t believe it when I walked into the theater and was told you had nearly been killed!”

“It’s all right; I’m fine," Dick said, but he held on tightly as Bruce stroked his hair.

“I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.” Dick tightened his hold a little more. “Not ever.”

& & & & & &

The police made note of the incident and asked questions, but the inspector seemed almost disinterested. Bruce was irritated but he had more confidence in his inner circle than the corrupt Athens police.

The catwalk above the stage was closely watched. Most of the company thought it was merely an accident, figuring that the police had questioned them as a matter of form. Bruce was content to let everyone go on thinking that. He preferred to watch the others without them being aware of it. His millionaire persona was perfect for putting people at ease, and he was able to move among them without suspicion.

What worried him was why Dick had been targeted. Why would anyone want to kill him? Was it the blackmailer out for revenge? But as Clint had said, why kill the golden goose? Killing the man who had a secret that he would pay to keep quiet made no sense.

_Whatever the reason, we have to find out before he tries again._

He thought of their attempt back in Paris to find the blackmailer…

& & & & & &

_{ **”Monsieur** Bouchet?”}_

_Armand Bouchet flinched as the voice in the shadows startled him. He was in his study and looked around. {”Who’s there?”} he asked sharply. {”Show yourself!”}_

_{”Blackmail is a nasty business.”}_

_{”Who is blackmailing anyone?”}_

_{”You, **Monsieur.”** }_

_{”Nonsense!”} Bouchet looked at the northeast corner of the room. {”What are you here for?”}_

_{”To let you know that you cannot get away with your perfidious criminality.”}_

_Bouchet snorted. {”University-level words, **Monsieur,** but they will get you nothing.”}_

_{”Who have you been blackmailing?”}_

_Bouchet tensed. He was a small man, dressed in an expensive smoking jacket, but he would never be considered a gentleman. He **did** resemble a weasel, as Battite had said, furtive and beady-eyed._

_{”I blackmail no one, sir!”}_

_{”What person in the theater are you blackmailing?”} demanded another voice._

_Bouchet whipped his head around. {“Who is there?”}_

_{”The name, **Monsieur,** the name.”}_

_Bouchet started to rise from his chair and a gold-headed cane came down painfully on his shoulder._

_{”Just tell us the name,”} growled the other voice._

& & & & & &

Unfortunately, Dick’s name was none of those given by a terrified Bouchet after a little more ‘persuasion’.

Still, it had been a good exercise for them. Donning the disguises had been exciting. Even better, it had felt _right,_ a way to get the rage that simmered at the edges of his consciousness safely out.

_I’ve battled that rage all my life. I’ve subsumed it in drink and meaningless sex. Until I saw Dick, my life was careening out of control like a runaway four-in-hand. It’s one of the many reasons that I **have** to keep Dick safe!_

He knew that sounded selfish but did not care. Love was also selfish, and he was perfectly okay with that.

_I’ll protect him with everything I have._

Bruce felt calm. When he made a vow, he kept it. This was not some empty promise he made during a silly outing or some other frippery. Vows were not meant to be broken.

& & & & & &

Bruce and Dick went out to see the sights of Athens. They saw the beautifully-classical Academy of Athens, University of Athens, and the National Library. Greece’s ancient traditions of learning continued even in the early 20th century.

Bruce kept his eye out for anyone suspicious, keeping Dick close. He had given up trying to be inconspicuous. Dick was wearing full Zouave-style regalia, bright red pantaloons and the blue jacket edged in gold.

“Looks, there’s an art exhibit at the Academy,” Dick said, pointing to a sandwich board advertising a show. “Sculpture.”

“Very well, let’s go.”

They entered the Academy, an institution of higher learning but also a place to showcase ancient Greek treasures. The foyer was cool, all polished parquet floor and white marble pillars. A grand staircase stretched up before them as a crystal chandelier sparkled above their heads. Marble busts were set in the small alcoves, and a sign directed them upstairs to see the exhibit.

Bruce was impressed by the quality of the sculptures. The Ancient Greeks were extremely skillful in the art, and their favorite subjects were beautiful young men.

Bruce studied the statue of a young man, eminently graceful and, of course, nude. His face was calm, even serene, and incredibly beautiful.

_This sculptor either was in love with his subject or simply appreciated great beauty._ He looked at Dick, who was gazing at the statue with admiration.

“You would have been a most satisfactory subject,” Bruce said softly.

Dick smiled as he continued to gaze at the statue. “Perhaps so.” He walked around the statue. “Fine work.” He was looking at the back of the sculpture.

“No doubt,” Bruce said dryly. He took out his camera and joined Dick. “Yes, very fine indeed.”

“Cheeky, eh?”

Bruce rolled his eyes as he saw Dick’s impish grin and sparkling eyes. “Extremely.”

Dick’s grin grew wider as Bruce snapped a picture. He walked to the next statue, deliberately giving Bruce a fine view. Bruce followed and grabbed Dick’s arm, pulling him into a dark, cool alcove.

“Tease.”

“And you love it.”

Bruce pressed up against his lover and kissed him. Dick kissed back, twining one leg around Bruce. Their kisses grew more passionate and Dick stifled a moan as the click of boots sounded on the hardwood floor.

“No one can see us,” Bruce whispered.

“Good, because I need a little attention here,” Dick gasped.

Bruce smirked and dropped to his knees. He quickly unfastened the Zouave pants and exposed the ready cock of his companion. He knew that he had little time to tease and took the glorious cock into his mouth, keeping a firm grip on Dick’s thighs. He sucked quickly, and Dick was so close to the edge and excited by the element of danger that it took little time at all for him to come. Bruce happily swallowed his seed, licking his lips as he looked up at Dick with shining eyes.

Dick slumped against the alcove wall, limp in Bruce’s strong grasp. “You are the best,” he panted.

Bruce preened, then took out his handkerchief and helped Dick clean up and pull himself together.

“What about you?” Dick asked.

“I’ll collect later,” Bruce assured him with a wicked smile.

“Have you been taking sassy lessons from me?”

“Maybe.” Bruce ran his thumb along Dick’s jaw. “You’ve taught me quite a bit.”

Dick blushed but smiled. “Good. You’re a fast learner.”

Bruce smirked as they emerged from the alcove.

They continued through the exhibit. A collection of vases and urns were set in one glass case. Dick’s eyes widened as he looked at one vase in the back.

“How did this get past the censors?”

“Maybe modern Greeks aren’t as prudish as Europeans.”

The vase in question depicted two young Greek males, one on all fours and the other taking him from behind while gripping his hips.

“Someone has a wicked sense of humor,” Dick smirked.

“And a lot of good fortune. The curator is lucky no one has complained.”

They reached the end of the exhibit and once they emerged into the bright Mediterranean sunlight, headed back to the hotel in Syntagma Square. It had originally been built as a private home by Greek businessman Antonis Dimitrou in the 1840s.

“Ah, all the comforts of home. All 90 rooms of it,” Dick said with a sweep of his arm.

“Good thing for us Mr. Dimitrou had to sell and his home was converted into a hotel in the 1870s. Very elegant.”

Dick had to agree with all the marble pillars, red velvet drapes and blazing chandeliers. Ferns and potted palms were placed flanking the entrances to the dining room and library, and a large palm fluttered gently on the landing. 

Up in Bruce’s suite, he collected his turn. He lay back blissfully as Dick slowly and surely sucked him off to a glorious climax.

Tomorrow they would visit the Parthenon, Athens’ jewel.


	23. Gleams The Temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Dick visit the Parthenon and Dick receives an unwelcome surprise back at the theater.

  
_Athena’s temple_   
_Graces the hilltop,_   
_A beacon of love_   
_And worship._

_So why should not I_   
_Love and worship_   
_You,_   
_My Beloved?_

  


**Sir Robert Standish**   
**"Love Poems**   
**Amongst The Greek Ruins"**   
**1861 C.E.**

Ancient Greece lived and breathed in these magnificent ruins. Part of the Parthenon still stood while other parts crumbled to dust. Broken pieces of pillar lay scattered around while almost-intact pillars created a cool, shadowed interior.

Outside of the Parthenon the sun was almost too bright to bear. Dick and Bruce walked through the temple hand-in-hand. Bruce pointed up at a crumbling area of the frieze.

“That’s from where Thomas Bruce, Lord Elgin, took the marbles in 1806 and then brought them to England. He sold them to the British Museum in 1816.”

“Thomas Bruce? Any relation?”

Bruce thought for a minute. “I don’t think so.”

“Pity we aren’t scheduled for England any time soon.”

“Yes, England has a lot of sights worth seeing.”

“I hear that Ireland is a green jewel.” Dick’s eyes sparkled.

“It’s certainly beautiful.” Bruce’s smile suggested that he thought Dick was beautiful, too.

“You’ve been to both countries?”

“I have. I’d love to show them to you someday.”

Dick smiled as he danced over to get a closer look at the frieze. “This is going to be a magnificent place to present our special performance.” 

“I agree.” Bruce looked around the ruins. “It’ll certainly set an atmosphere.”

“I can’t wait.” Dick took a sketchbook out of his jacket pocket. “I’ve got to give my opinions on the set. Our set designer will come out but as star of the company, I have some input.”

“Naturally.”

Dick smirked but began a quick sketch of the amphitheater. He was intent on his task and failed to notice a broken piece of marble in his path, starting to fall over it. Bruce caught his arm and saved him from a nasty fall.

“Thank you!” Dick’s smile was a little shaky. “Seems like for someone with perfect balance, I’ve been having a lot of accidents lately.”

“This was an accident.” Bruce helped Dick to straighten up. “The sandbag wasn’t.”

Dick sighed. “I’ve never had a problem with anyone, well, after I became a dancer.”

Bruce could only guess at the trouble that Dick had encountered as a Roma. He said gently, “An avatar of the sun like you? I have no doubt that you have more admirers than enemies.”

“I hope so,” Dick said cheerfully. “I’m a very loveable guy.”

Bruce kissed him and patted his buttocks. “I’ll agree with that.”

As Dick went back to his sketching, Bruce thought how much his lover fit into the Parthenon. He truly would have been the toast of Athens.

_The face that launched a thousand ships…_

Bruce smiled and took out his Kodak Brownie camera. Time for some pictures.

& & & & & &

Bruce greeted Dinah and Ollie with a smile. “Great to see you. How are you? How was Rome?”

“Magnificent. And so was Tuscany,” Dinah answered. “How about you? Soaking up the Mediterranean sun?"

“Um, a little more.” Bruce indicated the chairs in the sitting room of his suite. “Alfred, please call room service for coffee and pastries.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What happened?” Dinah demanded.

“Someone tried to kill Dick.”

Shock froze the Queens. Dinah finally found her voice. “Tell us everything, Bruce.”

He told them the story and Ollie asked, “What did the Athens police come up with?” 

“Nothing. They seemed very uninterested in the whole affair.” Bruce waved a hand.  
“That’s okay. We’ll take care of this ourselves.”

Dinah crossed her arms. “You seem pretty confident.”

“I am.”

“Why would someone want to kill Dick?” asked Ollie. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

The coffee and pastries arrived, Alfred giving the kitchen boy a generous tip. He served the coffee, returning to his bedroom.

“Where is Dick?” Ollie asked.

“At rehearsal.”

“Is he rattled?” Dinah asked.

“He was, but you know him. Under all that glitter, he’s tough, maybe the toughest of us all.”

Dinah’s taffeta gown crackled as she leaned forward. “We have to protect him.”

“We will.” Bruce’s voice was grim.

& & & & & &

The rehearsal went well back at the theater. Dick consulted with the set designer, Addison Halliwell, a middle-aged Englishman with thinning hair and a pencil mustache. Brown eyes studied Dick’s sketches.

“Yes, these we can build.” Addison tapped the paper. “They’ll fit right into the décor of the Parthenon.”

“Good.”

Addison glanced up at the catwalk. “Is Barton up there?”

“Whenever we rehearse.”

Addison looked at Dick. “You be careful, lad. We don’t need to lose our star.”

Dick’s smile dazzled. “Thanks, Addison. I appreciate your concern.”

Addison huffed. “Merely trying to make sure we don’t lose our star.”

“Right.” Dick’s smile was knowing as he stood and went to his dressing room. He was surprised to see a white vase of blood-red roses and a yellow envelope propped up against the vase.

He sniffed the roses. Their scent was sweet.

_Looks like I’ve got another admirer._

Dick opened the envelope and his blood froze.

& & & & & &

_You thought that you could trick me. That will cost you._

_Bring $10,000 to the island of Lesbos on Friday at 3:00 and leave it at the base of the statue of Sappho at the Eresos Shrine. Trick me again, and you’ll get more than a sandbag next time._

& & & & & &

“So the blackmailer _did_ try to kill you!” Dinah said.

They were all in Bruce’s suite as Dick sat on the edge of his lover's chair. His arms were crossed and his leg swung back-and-forth as his friends were gathered in comfortable chairs.

“Seems shortsighted to me,” grumbled Clint.

“He does seem to be contradicting himself,” Natasha agreed.

“Whatever the case, he has struck again.” Bruce steepled his fingers. “And we must be ready for him.”

Dinah leaned forward. “You should hire a guide to explore the Greek Islands and learn about the currents and other useful things before the drop on Friday.” 

“Excellent idea, Dinah.”

She rubbed her throat, a habit that she had adopted lately. “Don’t worry, Dick, we’ll nail this blackguard.”

“I certainly hope so.” He patted Bruce’s knee. “Good thing I have a rich boyfriend to lend me the money.”

Everyone laughed as Bruce shook his head. He closed his hand over Dick’s.

“Time to prepare, my friends.”


	24. Princess Of The Seas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Dick are charmed by their guide to the Greek Islands.

  
_The Queen lifts her sword,_   
_Golden in the sun_   
_And the battle cry goes fort_   
_And the victory is won._   


  


**Sarah Jean O’Reilly**   
**"The Glory Of The Amazons"**   
**1906 C.E.**

Bruce and Dick stood on the dock next to their rented yacht. They were waiting for their guide. Dick turned to look down the pier. “There she is.”

A woman was striding toward them, her dark hair billowing out behind her in the wind. She wore a simple white _chiton,_ the hem just above the knees. Her sandals made no sound on the weathered boards.

As she came closer, Dick saw the sandal strips criss-crossing her legs up to just below the knees in the ancient Greek style. A gold bracelet curved around her upper arm, and she wore a yellow band around her brow. Thin, gold bracelets encircled both wrists. 

“ _Yassas,_ gentlemen! Are one of you Mr. Bruce Wayne?”

“I am.”

She was as tall as Bruce and a few inches taller than Dick. Her beauty was breathtaking.

“I am Diana, your guide.” She held out her hand and Bruce shook it. She shook Dick’s hand, her grip firm. Her skin was bronzed from the Mediterranean sun and her eyes were a startling blue.

“Welcome, Miss Diana. I have my boat ready,” said Bruce.

“An impressive vessel, but it would be better to use mine. It is small, swift and will easily navigate any channel.”

“Very well. I’ll inform my butler that he can go back to the hotel and enjoy the day.”

& & & & & &

Diana piloted her small boat with skill as they traversed the scattered islands. Throughout the course of the day, they passed Crete, Euboea and Rhodes.

“Imagine the Colossus in all its glory under an ancient sun,” Diana said. Her perfect English was spoken with a charming Greek accent.

“What a magnificent sight it must have been,” Dick said in wonder.

“There is much in my country to dream about.”

Dick agreed with that. Greece was a land of the past that could be important for his and Bruce’s future.

“Can we visit Lesbos?” Bruce asked.

“Of course. That is my home island.”

They arrived on Lesbos at noon, and Dick requested that Diana lead them to the Shrine at Eresos. They tied up at the dock and Diana led them over the beach and into the woods, emerging out onto a narrow road. She guided them to the beautiful statue of Sappho, Lesbos’ most famous historical citizen.

Sappho was an impressive figure of marble, draped in a toga and surrounded by colorful flowers. A beautiful pool was filled with floating lilies, serene and contemplative.

“She was a great poet and inspiration,” Diana said quietly. 

Dick thought of Sappho’s reputation as a lover of women. He felt a kinship with her as he stood close to Bruce, brushing his hand against his companion’s.

“Come, let us eat luncheon by the sea,” Diana invited with a twinkle in her eyes as they left the shrine.

Bruce and Dick followed her to a grassy area by a cliff. It afforded them a magnificent view of the sea. Whitecaps danced under the sun as Diana set down the picnic basket she had carried from the boat. She set out a yellow tablecloth embroidered with blue flowers.

Bruce and Dick were delighted to dine on fresh fish sandwiches with lettuce and a tangy mustard that added to the flavor of the fish. They each enjoyed a bowl of garden salad sprinkled with crumbled feta cheese and vine-ripened grapes.

“Try this olive oil. It is of the finest.” Diana held out a cruet, the contents shimmering in the sunlight like liquid gold.

A bottle of wine was their drink, and Dick asked, “This is really good. What is it?”

“Home-brewed. It is blueberry wine.” 

Dick laughed delightedly. “It’s delicious! So you made it yourself?”

“My mother and I.”

“I agree with Dick. Delicious,” said Bruce, saluting Diana with his wineglass.

She smiled and drank her wine. “Where else do you wish to go?”

“Oh, I think we’ll just sail around. It’s a gorgeous day.”

“Very well. I would like to sail the seas on a day like this.” She looked at them, considering something. “Would you like to meet my mother? My home is not far from here.”

“We’d like that very much,” said Dick.

& & & & & &

The cottage that was Diana’s home was modest but neat, a red tile roof off-setting the white stucco. Red shutters framed matching window boxes with colorful flowers nodding in the sun.

Hippolyta was a lovely woman with sun-tossed blond hair and dressed in a simple blue peasant skirt with a white blouse edged in blue. She wore several bracelets that clinked and jangled with the movement of her arms.

The kitchen was bright and cheerful, the wood light in color and green plants climbing along the windowsills from their hand-painted pots. A sturdy table and chairs was set on the rough wooden floor.

“Welcome to our home, gentlemen. Did you enjoy your luncheon?”

“Very much, Mrs. Prince.” 

Hippolyta was pleased. “Sit, and we shall have a little dessert while you tell me about your travels.”

The cakes were light, tasting of lemon, and served with cold tea in tall glasses squirted with lemons. Bruce told them about his Grand Tour and Hippolyta asked, “And what part of America are you from?”

“Gotham City. It’s on the East Coast.”

“I would love to see America someday,” Diana said dreamily.

“It’s an exciting country. I would be more than happy to be your guide.”

Dick leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratorial tone to Diana. “He could guide both of us.”

She laughed. “You are not American?”

He shook his head. “I am not a millionaire, but a humble dancer.” At Bruce’s laugh he pretended to take umbrage and the women giggled.

“A dancer?” Hippolyta poured more tea. “Are you performing in Athens?”

“Yes, with the _Ballet Magnifique.”_

“Ballet! How wonderful!” said Diana. 

“If you wish to come see a performance, I’ll leave tickets for you at the box office,” offered Dick.

The women gladly accepted.

After dessert Diana showed them the parlor, a room of comfortable furniture and paintings of Greek landscapes on the walls. They were painted by a friend in the village, she explained. A wooden bookcase was set against one wall and contained Greek histories and biographies, with a study of Sappho and another of the legendary Amazons taking up prominent places. A bronze sculpture of a woman in battle dress carrying a sword and shield was on top of the bookcase.

“What a beautiful piece,” said Dick as he went closer to look at it.

“It is of my mother’s namesake, Queen Hippolyta.”

“Such a fierce warrior!”

“Yes.” Diana’s pride shone in her face as she stood in that modest little parlor. Dick could see her as a Queen or Princess, leading her women warriors into battle. 

“Ah, a history of the American Civil War,” Bruce said as he studied the bookcase.

“Yes, a fascinating tale. I am glad that your country survived such turmoil.” Her expression grew sad. “Such loss, even of your great President.”

Bruce nodded gravely. 

There were other books about art and histories of other countries, and a section of novels, both literature and potboiler. It amused the visitors to see the eclectic collection.

“Now, let us go sail the seas,” Diana said cheerfully.

& & & & & &

After a pleasant afternoon out on the water, Bruce and Dick returned to the hotel. Tired but happy, they removed their clothes and crawled into bed in Bruce’s suite.

Dick snuggled close to his companion, their bodies warm under the sheets. Bruce’s arm slipped around his shoulders and Dick sighed happily. He felt safe in his lover’s arms.

Safety was important to him. On the night that he had lost his parents, his sense of being safe in the world was gone. It had taken him many years to achieve even some measure of security, found at the _Ballet Magnifique,_ but full security was in Bruce’s arms.

“I love you,” he mumbled into Bruce’s chest.

The rumble of laughter was deep. “I love you, too.” Bruce nuzzled Dick’s hair. “We’ll take care of everything.”

“The Raven and the Nightingale ride again?”

“Of course. Though maybe not in costume this time.”

The fading rays of the sunlight sparkled off the jeweled nightingale set on top of the dresser as they fell asleep.


	25. Fire And Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a savage storm, the final confrontation with the blackmailer takes place.

  
_My past crumbles_  
 _In bitter ash._

_My past stumbles_  
 _As I crash._

_The flames eat_  
 _My bones._

_The flames beat_  
 _My frenzied moans._  


  


**Sam Carver**   
**"The Southern Curse"**   
**1899 C.E.**

Bruce and Dick alighted on the shores of Lesbos under a gray sky. The horizon was darker, threatening bad weather. A strong wind blew off the water, ruffling hair and snatching at their shirts. The duo was dressed very casually, and Bruce had decided against the yacht. He wanted something lighter and more maneuverable. He had not liked the look of the sky that morning. 

“Good thing we’re not in costume,” Dick said with a quick smile. “Our cloaks would be out like full sail.”

Bruce chuckled. “Fortunately, we can do our business without the trappings of the Raven and Nightingale.”

“The Raven would love a day like this.”

Bruce’s excitement quickened. “We can still be resourceful.”

“I just hope our friends can make it all right.” Dick instinctively looked up toward the trees. “We’d better get going. It’s 2:30.”

“Right.”

They tied off the boat to the small dock that Diana had used a few days ago. Dick carried a valise filled with money and Bruce kept an eye on their surroundings.

They left the beach and entered the forest, traveling a short distance in the cool interior. Bruce shivered. The wind whistled through the trees, the mournful sound prickling along the back of his neck.

They emerged onto the narrow road and walked at a brisk pace, the temperature dropping. A huge gust of wind blew through the trees with the force of a runaway train, nearly knocking Dick off his feet. Bruce grabbed his arm and had a difficult time maintaining his balance.

“Figures our blackmailer would pick a day when it looks like a hurricane’s coming!” Dick shouted to be heard above the wind.

“Let’s hope our blackmailer makes it here. I don’t want to wait any more to nab him!”

They struggled against the wind, canting forward like figureheads on the prows of ships on storm-tossed seas. Each step leeched energy out of them as the road seemed endless, the wind bending and swaying the trees in a macabre dance.

Finally they reached the shrine and Dick jammed the valise at the base of the statue, putting a large rock on top of it.

“Let’s get out of here!” he said, and Bruce followed without protest.

They disappeared into the woods, settling in a spot well-hidden to begin their vigil. Dick looked up at the darkening sky and sighed. “It’s going to rain.” 

“I’m afraid so.”

“So this is the life of a Raven and Nightingale, huh?”

Bruce’s smile was amused. “Not too elegant a picture, are we?”

Dick chuckled.

They lapsed into silence, the wind swirling with gale force. Dick shivered and Bruce put his arm around him.

“I hope the others are all right,” Dick said fretfully.

“Yes, let’s hope they’ve reached the other side of the island by now.”

Dick sighed again. “I don’t think our mystery blackmailer is going to show.”

“You might be right, but it’s too soon to tell.”

They waited until half an hour past three, than headed for the beach after retrieving the valise. It began to rain as they trudged down the road and through the woods. They hurried across the beach as the wind blew cold, stinging rain into their faces. 

“Look!” Dick shouted. “A man’s out there!”

Before either of them could act, they saw a swimmer already heading for the man slumped over a piece of driftwood.

“It’s Diana!”

Her strokes were powerful as she cleaved through the water, reaching him as the waves swelled. She grabbed the man and began swimming back toward shore.

Bruce and Dick helped Diana drag the man out of the surf as the rain battered their skin, soaking through their clothes.

The man’s blond hair was plastered to his head, a cut glistening at his right temple. He was wearing a uniform and Bruce shouted, “Looks like American Army, though why he should wash up on the shore of Lesbos, I don’t know.”

“He is hurt. Help me get him to my house.” Diana’s hair was wild as the wind whipped it around and her anxiety was plain.

The three of them managed to carry the injured man to Diana’s home. They burst inside and Hippolyta nearly dropped a plate she was washing at the kitchen sink.

“Diana! What is this? Who is this man?”

“An American, Mother. He is hurt.”

They brought him into one of the small bedrooms and Hippolyta laid out an old blanket over the bed to protect the sheets.

“You ladies get some bandages,” Bruce directed. “Dick and I will strip him of these wet clothes.”

Hippolyta and Diana left the room, Diana reluctantly as she kept looking back at the man. Bruce and Dick quickly stripped their patient and covered him with a sheet.

“How bad is that head injury?” Dick asked.

“Could be bad. Doesn’t look like much, but head injuries are tricky.” Bruce examined the wound. “I wish that Alfred was here. He’s good with medical matters.”

The windowpanes rattled as rain pelted their glass. It came down in torrents as the skies opened up. Dick looked out the window and saw the waves wild like Teddy Roosevelt and the Rough Riders charging up San Juan Hill in the last war, waving swords and uttering battle cries torn from eager throats. 

“I’m worried about them.” Dick put a hand on the glass.

“So am I.” Bruce touched the patient’s brow. “A bit of a fever.”

Dick frowned. “How did an Army officer wind up on a piece of driftwood in the Mediterranean Sea?”

“He could have been on one of our ships, or a Greek one as a liaison of some sort.” He glanced over at the pile of wet clothing in the corner. “I don’t suppose he carried any orders?”

“If he did, you couldn’t read them. They’d fall apart.”

Diana and Hippolyta returned with bandages, a bowl of water and washcloths. Diana sat on the edge of the bed and cleansed the wound, then applied the bandages. Hippolyta wet a cloth and wrung it out, starting to wipe her patient down. She pulled the sheet down to his waist.

Once again Dick was impressed by the officer’s physique. He could see that Diana was attracted to him and he could see why.

The officer groaned and his eyes fluttered open. He gazed up at Diana.

“An Angel,” he breathed.

She smiled like the sun breaking through the clouds. “You have the tongue of a poet.” 

His smile was equally bright, and Bruce and Dick exchanged amused glances. Bruce leaned forward from his chair. “What’s your name?”

“Captain Steve Trevor.”

“U.S. Army?”

“Yes.”

“How did you end up here?”

“I was…” Steve coughed, groaning painfully. “…assigned to liaison duty…with the Greek Army.”

Diana brushed the hair back from his brow. “You should rest.”

Steve did look tired. He was bruised and battered and looked ready to fall asleep.

“Yes, you should rest,” urged Hippolyta.

Suddenly there was a loud pounding on the front door. Dick was the first one out of the bedroom and yanked open the door, shocked to see his missing friends and a bedraggled man they dragged into the parlor, pushing him to his knees.

“Haclav Vlasic?” Dick shut the door and joined his friends, who were all soaked to the bone. He became aware of his own damp clothes. “What’s going on?”

“Vasily’s Vlasic’s boat broke up and washed up on shore,” Natasha said, pushing wet hair out of her eyes.

“Yeah, Haclav is the louse in the house,” snarled Clint.

“Why, Haclav?” asked Dick.

Haclav’s face contorted with hate. “Because you are a stinking, filthy Gypsy!”

Dick’s stomach contorted. He never could get used to the hate. “Well, your little scheme failed.”

“Why’d you try to kill him?” Bruce demanded.

“Because I wanted to finish the job if I couldn’t get the money.”

“’Finish the job’?” asked Dinah in a puzzled voice. Ollie frowned beside her.

“Yes , because I only got your parents that night,” Haclav spat at Dick.

Dick felt a cold numbness spread through his body. “You were there…that night?”

“Of course, Gypsy. My friends and I set your pitiful little camp on fire, and we watched them burn!”

& & & & & &

_The screams rent the air along with the acrid smell of burning flesh. The golden tassels on the wagons danced wildly as they caught fire and turned to ash in seconds._

_He ran in terror, hearing the taunts and curses, trying to find his parents. He stumbled to a halt, horrified as he saw the laughing, leering men cast their torches and the flames swallowed his parents with fiery pain…_

& & & & & &

“Dick!”

Bruce’s sharp cry penetrated the fog of memory and Dick snapped out of his horror. He started down at Haclav VasilyVlasic, suddenly remembering his face from that awful night, and the man took advantage of everyone’s shock. He scrambled to his feet and pushed past Dick, managing to escape through the front door. Before anyone could move, Dick was after him.

He plunged into the howling maelstrom, barely able to see as the rain was whipped into his face. He ran after Vasily Vlasic with a pounding heart, too many emotions mixed up to separate. 

The rain stung like pellets on his skin as he stumbled in mud and branches lashed out at his arms and legs. He ran like a racehorse as he pursued the killer, blood pounding in his ears as he fled into the night.

He could barely see Vlasic but his determination was molten-hot. He would not let this son-of-a-pig get away! He deserved nothing less than his parents’ fate. As he ran, tears slid down his face, mingling with the rain. His muscles knotted with tension as he propelled his body forward, the old horror mixing with fresh pain. 

A shadow moved several yards away behind the curtain of rain. Dick felt the coldness dig deeper into his soul.

They reached the small rise that he, Bruce, and Diana had picnicked on earlier in the week. Vlasic scrabbled up the hill, Dick right behind him.

Vlasic reached the edge of the cliff and turned to face Dick. “Go away, Gypsy! This rain will not cleanse you!”

“You’re a vile murderer!” Dick panted, more from rage than exertion.

“Of what? Stinkin’ Gypsies? The world is better off without your kind!”

Dick lunged forward and grabbed Vlasic’s shirt. They struggled as the wind buffeted their bodies and they staggered like drunken sailors. Vlasic slipped in the wet grass and slid over the edge of the cliff, clawing for purchase. He screamed up at Dick, “Save me!” 

Flames wavered behind Dick’s eyes as he started down at Vlasic, seeing the laughing visage as the flames danced.

“Stinkin’, no-good Gypsy!”

Vlasic’s face was contorted with hate. He swore as Dick finally reached for him but he slid down the cliff as he could no longer hold his grip on the edge, screaming his final sparks of venom as he fell to the rocks below.

A hand clamped down on Dick’s shoulder. He knew Bruce’s touch.

The waves crashed over the jagged rocks, and when the wild foam returned back to the sea, the broken body of Haclav Vlasic was gone.


	26. Dance Amongst The Ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the past behind them, Bruce and Dick are ready to begin their future.

  
_Athena’s Blessing_  
 _Shine down upon thee_  
 _In the brilliant light_  
 _Of day._

  


**Ancient Greek Blessing**  
 **3rd Century B.C.E.**

Dick danced like a dream, a light breeze ruffling his hair and toga. Natasha met him with matching grace, the passionate dance drawing in the watchers as the sun beat down like precious gold sent down by Apollo from Mount Olympus. The old tale of jealousy and passion played out among the pure, sun-bleached stones of Athena’s temple.

The front row was filled with the smiling faces of Bruce, Alfred, Dinah, Ollie, Diana, Steve, and Hippolyta. Clint was hidden in the shadows with the other stagehands.

Dick felt free as he leaped and pirouetted with powerful legs, the short toga affording the audience a good view of his beauty and strength. He lifted Natasha up and she split her legs, the longer folds of her toga swirling as Dick spun around, waiting until she arched her back before his final spin. He set her down gently and they began a quick series of movements in tandem.

Whitecaps bobbed on azure seas as fishing boats puttered by and pleasure boats made their proud way out to sea. Seagulls flew high as the city of Athens lay gleaming far below the Acropolis.

The colorful silks and satins of the audience contrasted with the simple silks of the togas, a jarring juxtaposition of modern and ancient. Broad-brimmed, sweeping hats with feathers vied with derbies and bowler hats. Long skirts and stiff collars were as confining as the dancers’ togas were freeing.

Dick loved the freedom that the toga gave him. If he could get away with it, he would wear one all the time. He smiled at the thought.

_What would Bruce think if I walked down the street, clad in just a toga?_

The final movement began, and when it finished, he and the cast took a bow. Applause and flowers were thrown their way.

The audience was brought to another area of the Parthenon where tables had been set up with refreshments.

Bruce went backstage and he and Dick went into another area, cool and dark. The gleam of sweat was still on Dick’s skin and the white toga was pure and silken to the touch. Bruce caressed the white folds as he said, “You were magnificent out there.”

“Thank you.” Dick edged closer. “How about showing me your appreciation?”

“Not here.” Bruce nuzzled his neck. “You’re incredible and I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

& & & & & &

Bruce did not feel the usual tension in Dick when love was mentioned. He seemed more relaxed now.

_Did Vlasic’s death close a door for Dick? Did he confront his past and finally put it to rest?_

Bruce drew Dick to him, the silken toga falling off his shoulders. He kissed his lover, wanting more, but acutely aware of the dozens of people milling around the temple.

_He’ll never forget what happened that terrible night, of course, but that confrontation might have chased away some of the ghosts as justice was done to one of the murderers._

As he pulled back, he decided to take a chance. He put his hands on Dick’s shoulders.

“Dick, I’ll be going home after Labor Day.” At the other man’s puzzled expression, he clarified, “It’s an American holiday the first Monday in September.”

“Ah.” Dick looked unhappy.

“I want you to come to America with me.”

“But, my career…”

“There’s a ballet company in Gotham. I wrote the manager and he’s looking for a new lead male dancer.” He squeezed Dick’s shoulders. “I know it isn’t the crowned heads of Europe…” 

“I’ll come with you.”

Bruce stared. It was too easy! “You’ll come with me?”

“Of course!” Dick’s smile was gentle. “I wouldn’t tease you about something like this, Bruce.”

Bruce loved Dick even more, if that was possible. He hugged him hard.

“My contract runs out at the end of the summer, so there will be no problem with _Ballet Magnifique.”_

Bruce decided not to tell Dick that he already knew about the contract and that was why he had chosen Labor Day as his time to go home. Instead he smiled and took hold of Dick’s hand and squeezed it.

“I think it’s time to leave the old hatreds behind,” Dick said quietly.

“I’m afraid that America has its share.”

“No doubt, but I welcome a fresh start.” He cocked his head. “What is this Labor Day?”

“A holiday to honor the working man and woman.”

“Any country that does that has promise.”

Bruce squeezed his hand again. “You’re the toast of Athens. Let’s go bask in your glory.”

“I eagerly fly to my adoring public.”

“Fitting for a Nightingale.”

Dick’s smile was as sparkling as the jewels on his golden nightingale as he and Bruce went to join the others.

[](http://s578.photobucket.com/user/ctbn60/media/Fanfic%20Bookcovers/Greece_zps4505590c.jpg.html)


End file.
